Number Systems
by SuperWhoLockness
Summary: John begins to see a dangerous pattern occurring with Sherlock. His world is crumbling and Sherlock feels like he has no control over anything anymore except for the one thing that could potentially kill him. John/Sherlock fluff but mostly Sherlock/Molly in later chapters. *Dark!Sherlock*
1. The Beginning of the End

So I imagine not a lot of folks will read this one but I had so many ideas that I just needed to get out.

**Full summary:**** John notices that Sherlock isn't eating very much and becomes worried. A woman enters Sherlock's life and tries to help him live again. Some John/Sherlock fluff, but it'll eventually be mostly Sherlock/Molly. **

**As usual, reviews/feedback are much appreciated! Please don't hesitate to pop me a review because they're nice and make my day. **

* * *

Chapter One: Beginning of the End

**.o.o.**

**.o.**

Sherlock Holmes sighed in exhaustion as he entered the flat, taking off his long coat and scarf and placing both on the coat tree by the doorway. He absentmindedly scratched the back of his head and then planted himself on the couch as John walked over and sat in his usual chair by the bookshelves and fireplace. He heard his stomach growl but ignored it, rubbing his eyes. It had been a long few days of crime-solving and the two of them had just finished their most recent case involving a heavier bloke who had died of an apparent heart attack, however, his heart had shown no evidence of strain. It had turned out that he had died of being poisoned by his mistress for his life insurance money.

He put his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, feeling his friend's eyes on him. "What?" He asked, more coldly than he had meant to.

He glanced over at saw that John Watson was biting his lip. "I just… I don't know. Usually you're all fired up once you've solved a case. Was it not as exciting for you this time as most of them?"

Sherlock was silent for several moments, letting himself feel the soft leather couch underneath his body, wishing he could sink all the way inside of it and disappear. "Well, it's over now, isn't it? The case. We've solved it. Everything's just a bit more boring now."

John just nodded, apparently satisfied with that answer. Sherlock sighed again and then turned his back to him, laying on his side as his stomach rumbled once again with hunger. He couldn't get the image of the heavy dead man out of his head and it was haunting him. Why wasn't he more fit? Didn't he know that he would've died of a heart attack if he hadn't been murdered? It was common sense, wasn't it? He swallowed hard and closed his eyes as he hugged his arms around his body. With his thumbs, he could feel the bit of fat that had started to creep up on him, expanding his stomach to a slight bulge.

Then a thought crossed his mind. _I'm criticizing a man who had been overweight when I'm gaining weight myself. It's fascinating how much of a hypocrite I can be when I put my mind to it._

Then, for whatever reason, he felt compelled to bounce the idea off of John. He hopped off the couch and then walked over to him, standing up straight. "Look at me and tell me what you see, John."

The request had surprised John so much that he cleared his throat and looked up at his friend. "Err, I see an intelligent person who can also be a pretty big arse on occasion – "

His ignorance set something off in Sherlock and he shook his head and waved his arms for emphasis. "I mean me, John! For God's sake, me!"

"Of course this is about you! Who do you think I'm talking about…?"

Sherlock took a deep breath and swallowed hard, trying to keep his patience. "I mean physically! Not as a person! How do you think I am… physically?"

"Oh," John replied, nodding in understanding. He leaned back in his chair and shrugged. "Tall, grey eyes, dark curly hair, slender in build – "

That was where he was getting at. "Slender? Slender implies… thin, rather skinny in nature?" When Sherlock saw John nod yes, he started shaking his head before he unbuttoned his lilac colored shirt he had been wearing and did a spin-around. "I'm not though, am I? I'm… getting fat….aren't I?"

John raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "No, Sherlock. I believe it's physically impossible for you to gain any weight at all. Your metabolism has to be through the roof. You might be, bulking up a little but for you that's a good thing! You were looking almost skeletal for a while, weren't you? I could see your ribs and your shoulder blades. It's probably from all the running around we do. Between you jumping over fences and down stairways, it's probably muscle. You need to put on a few pounds…"

Sherlock inhaled through his nose, trying to not let the words get to him. He couldn't understand how he could gain any weight. He had been small his whole life, even when he ate at home. He looked at John and nodded, trying not to give himself away. "Right… right. So, umm… I think I'm going to go get some fresh air." Sherlock grabbed his shirt and began to button it again.

"Oh, great. I'll come along…"

"No! No," Sherlock replied, cursing himself for having almost yelled the first time. "You should stay here in case Graham –"

"Greg," John automatically corrected calmly.

"Right, in case he stops by with another case his team is too incompetent to solve. I'll be back in a bit."

John nodded and exhaled, looking slightly disappointed. Sherlock ignored his coat on the way out and ran down the stairs before he left the house, walking quickly around the corner. He kept on walking, his mind trailing back to his weight gain. The more he thought about it, the faster he walked until he was nearly sprinting down the sidewalk, ignoring the pedestrian signs. He had no idea why but it was bothering him that he had somehow managed to build some fat. That's what it had to be though, right? Fat. Not muscle as John had suggested. Sherlock could see the extra skin on his stomach where he had once been very skinny.

As he continued to run through the streets in London, his mind raced. _Why is this bothering me now? Maybe because I haven't actually been focused on it until the case was finished. But then how long had I been in this physical state? Why had no one said anything about it to him?_

In order to chase the criminals, he needed to be fast, as a fox. Fat would slow him down. No, he couldn't afford the extra weight. He needed to lose it somehow. He finally stopped running when he heard the screeching of tires and then felt an object forcefully touch his legs, causing him slight unbalance. He looked over and noticed a dark colored car had bumped him and the driver was leaning out his window, shouting and cursing at him.

Sherlock blinked a few times and then suddenly heard the phone he hadn't bothered to take out in his pants pocket chime with a text. He moved back onto the sidewalk where he was safe again and checked his messages.

_If you're not too busy solving crimes and convicting murderous mistresses, do try to make time to see me today, Sherlock. I'll be waiting eagerly for your visit. – MH_

Of course he signed his messages the same way Sherlock did, minus the first initial obviously. His brother and him shared more than DNA, they shared little mannerisms as well. He sighed heavily and angrily pocketed his mobile before he looked around him. His brother wasn't too far away; he might as well go see him right now. He hailed a cab and then directed the driver to where he knew Mycroft could be found. He dabbed at the perspiration on his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, trying to catch his breath before the meeting with his brother.

Once the drive arrived at the place where Mycroft was staying at, Sherlock thanked the driver and quickly exited the cab. He walked inside, straightening himself along the way. He unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows, masking the evidence of sweat he had wiped from his forehead. He took a deep breath and then exhaled, trying to calm himself. His breathing stopped short when Mycroft opened the door and smirked, stepping aside to let his younger brother come inside the room.

"Out for a morning jog, Sherlock?"

"No, actually," he lied instinctively. "I was in the middle of something. What is it you summoned me for exactly, Mycroft?"

His brother shook his head and walked around him. "Can't I invite my only brother over for a cup of tea and biscuits? "

Sherlock pursed his lips and tongued his cheek. "Well considering there's no tea or biscuits in this room, I can only assume you have an errand for me. Unfortunately for you, I'm quite busy at the moment so do make this visit short."

"Have you gained a bit of weight, brother?"

Sherlock felt his stomach sink and he bit back the words that were lingering on his tongue. Even his brother had noticed. "What is it you want?"

Mycroft sighed and then turned to his brother. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, dear brother mine, but I did indeed only invite you over for a chat and tea. The tea's on its way. You've arrived much more prematurely than I anticipated. Please, Sherlock, do have a seat."

"I prefer to stand. What is it you want to discuss?" Sherlock didn't want to admit to his brother that he just wanted to go back outside and run some more.

Mycroft searched Sherlock's eyes for something, but there was sadness in them. "Sit down, Sherlock. We need to talk about something." There was a sternness in his voice that made Sherlock finally obey his brother.

At that moment, the tea arrived on an elegant silver platter and Mycroft was silent as he poured cups for both of them. Once he sat down across from his brother, he took a sip.

Sherlock wasn't liking where this was heading. Mycroft was a drama queen but he usually wasn't this dramatic about something if it wasn't dire. He held the warm cup in his hands, waiting. "Oh come now, out with it, Mycroft."

"Our dear mother has died, Sherlock." Mycroft finally spoke, in an almost inaudible voice that surprised Sherlock.

"W-What…? But how? When?" He asked, setting his tea down and looking at Mycroft in shock. He could feel his blood freezing in his veins.

Mycroft only moved to take another drink from his tea, apparently calm, too calm for Sherlock to feel calm himself though. "Brain aneurysm, it would seem. She had a severe seizure and there was no way for anyone to save her."

Sherlock sat back in his chair and looked out the window in thought. "Damn it. Damn it! Why didn't you tell me this sooner? When did she die?" he demanded, hitting his chair angrily.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and did a shrugging motion with his shoulders. "It happened the other day. I attempted to call you, three times, I believe it was, but you didn't pick up. Did my dear brother mine decide to have another trip to the morphine fairy?"

Sherlock felt the tears build up in his eyes now, hating that his brother was right. When he and John had settled in for the night, he had been so frustrated with the case that he had been driven towards his crutch, or at least one of his crutches. He could feel his hands shaking now. Sherlock stood up quickly and started towards the door, his stomach feeling sick with nausea and his legs feeling like they were about to give out.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I did try to call you though. It's not my fault that you let your addictions get the best of you."

"Just shut up, Mycroft!" Sherlock whipped around and screamed at him. He took a shaky breath and glared at his brother, shaking his head. "You should've tried harder! This isn't one of those things you try once and then give up when you get no response! She was family! You should've tried harder to contact me, stop by the flat, _something_!"

Mycroft stood up now and set his tea down at the table before he looked at his brother with searching eyes. "I don't believe I've ever seen you so worked up before, Sherlock! I understand it was our mother and all but why all this emotion now? Why did you not react like this when she was brought into the hospital months ago when she had her first brain aneurysm? You were still as a statue, not even tears…"

Sherlock shook his head in disbelief. "Well she wasn't dead then, was she?!" He couldn't stay here any longer. He had to get away from his brother, from the whole situation. Without a goodbye, Sherlock stormed out of the building and didn't bother to hail a cab this time.

He ran. He ran until his legs burned battery acid, pumping away. He let the tears finally escape his eyes now, everything a blur in his vision. This wasn't happening; it couldn't be happening. Sure, people died and life went on but his mother had been the closest thing he had to feeling love. Now that was all dead with her. Sherlock was feeling things he hadn't felt since he was a child. He felt pain, agony, hurt. He was feeling like someone had reached into his body and ripped out his heart, leaving him cold and frozen.

He didn't stop running until he had finally reached 221B. He doubled over from the cramp he was feeling in his side and resisted from punching the door. He wiped away his tears and then walked inside the flat, half expecting to see a curious John awaiting him when he walked in the door but to his slight disappointment, he only saw his skull that was sitting on his fireplace mantel. Once he was sure he was alone, Sherlock grabbed his violin and began to play the most mournful song he knew, silently dedicating it to his mother. Once it ended, he put down the violin and then walked over to the fireplace and reached in.

He felt around until he felt his package of cigarettes that was taped on the inside, ripping it off the stone and taking one out before he lit it. He sunk down on his brown leather couch and closed his eyes as he took occasional deep drags from his cigarette, wishing he could wake up in the morning and the only person he ever truly loved and felt any emotion towards be still alive and breathing. He felt like it was the beginning of the end as he knew it. Sherlock forgot about himself as he let the nicotine fill his system, willing it to kill him. His wishes went unfulfilled and he only felt cold, numb, and hatred towards the world once again.


	2. Irresponsible

**Thank you so much for your reviews! I can't tell you how much they mean to me :) I'm really glad you're liking this story so far. It feels so good to just write my ideas down and have others read them.**

Just want to warn those with EDs that this chapter might possibly be triggering for you so please don't read if you're not feeling safe.

* * *

Chapter Two: Irresponsible

**.o.o.**

**.o.**

"Christ, Sherlock! You're going to set the whole flat on fire!"

The consulting detective was awoken from his slumber to see John kneeling beside him, taking the still burning cigarette from between his fingers and stubbing out the long line of ash that was still lingering on the very end of it. "Hmm? Oh, right. Sorry."

He didn't care that he didn't sound the least bit sorry, but he genuinely hadn't meant to fall asleep with the cigarette still lit. Sherlock knew he would've been actually sorry if he had, in fact, set the flat ablaze and hurt Mrs. Hudson or John in the process.

John looked at him with concern in his eyes and he sighed softly. "What happened?"

Sherlock debated whether or not to tell him and his instincts automatically told him not to. The last thing he wanted or needed was John's sympathy. He could live without it, quite frankly, and he knew from experience that he knew it was difficult to receive sympathy when you had even more difficulty giving it to someone else. He remained laying on his back, feeling a tidal wave of sadness sweeping over him. He just sighed heavily.

"Nothing. Nothing happened. I'm fine, John…"

"Come on now, Sherlock. I'm not as intelligent as you but even I can tell when something's up with you," John urged, standing up and then going into the kitchen.

"What time is it?"

Short pause as John most likely looked at his watch instead of the kitchen clock, force of habit. "Half five. Bloody hell this day went by quickly. What do you want to have for dinner?"

The thought of food made Sherlock overcome with another wave of nausea even though he couldn't remember the last time he had even eaten anything. The only thing he had resting in his stomach was the tea he had drank at Mycroft's, and even that wasn't very much to be satisfying.

"Nothing," Sherlock replied, his body still exhausted from running earlier and from the news he had received. "I don't want anything. I'm not hungry."

John came out from the kitchen and gave him a disapproving frown. "Have you even eaten anything these past few days, Sherlock? I don't think I've even seen you in the kitchen unless it was to do your experiments…"

He knew he had to think fast now but that was hard to do when he had no fuel in his body. "I had a sandwich and some biscuits at Mycroft's today," he lied.

This sparked John's attention now, much to Sherlock's dismay. "Oh, you were at Mycroft's? What did he want now?"

Sherlock stared out the window from his position on the couch. "He wanted to know the situation involving the murderous mistress from the case. I told him, I left…"

John went back into the kitchen and then Sherlock heard the sound of pots and pans rattling around. "Murderous mistress? That's a catchy title…" he yelled from the kitchen.

"His words, not mine! Anyway, seeing him always proves to be a waste of my time. Where did you go earlier? I came home and you were gone," Sherlock inquired, curious about John's answer.

"Oh, Sarah invited me out for a bit and I wanted to have a drink so we popped down to the pub. It was last minute."

Sherlock nodded even though he knew John couldn't see him. He just wanted to be alone and the smell of his roommate cooking in the kitchen was making his nausea worse. He hadn't purposely not eaten, though; he had sincerely simply forgotten. Between the excitement of the case and the news Mycroft broke to him earlier, he didn't have time or feel remotely hungry. His stomach deceived him so much so that he mentally cursed it every time he heard it rumble with the hunger he didn't feel.

"Why don't you come in here and have some dinner with me, Sherlock?" John invited cheerily.

Sherlock took a deep breath. "I told you, I'm not hungry…"

"Well at least come in here and talk. Have a bit of wine. We don't really talk much anymore. We barely talk during cases unless you're bouncing your ideas off of me, but you've been even more quiet than usual. Come on now," John encouraged.

Sherlock rolled skillfully off the couch onto his feet and then walked into the kitchen before he looked down at John who had made himself some pasta, a glass of wine sitting in front of his place, a fourth of a quarter full. He grabbed a glass and poured the red wine into it, not stopping until it was at least three quarters full, feeling the need to drink now more than ever.

He sat down across from John and took a drink of it, letting the sweetness sting his tongue and letting the alcohol burn his throat. "How are you and Sarah?"

John nodded once. "We're good, thanks for asking. She asked about you today. She asked if you wanted to hang out with us some night."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "What did you say?"

"I said that I'd ask you. I know being around people isn't your thing but the three of us know each other. You have no reason to be… nervous or anxious or anything…"

Sherlock rolled his eyes again and then took an even longer drink of his wine before swallowing it. "You're a doctor, John… I would've thought that being a sociopath with social anxiety couldn't be cured by a few words. You know better than anyone not to tell someone with social anxiety to just… 'stop being nervous.' I don't long for friendships, John, you know that. I don't need social interaction to stay alive."

John held up his hand in a feeble attempt to stop his friend's criticism. Sherlock stopped after that. He wasn't surprised his friend grew tired of hearing him complain about being around people. He finished his wine quickly and then poured himself another glass.

_It's just empty calories you don't need. You'll only become fatter, _a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

He pushed it further back, choosing to ignore it. Sherlock took another drink, the fast consumption of the alcohol already beginning to make his head swim. He looked up from his wine to see John giving him a suspicious look. "What?"

"Oh, I don't know, Sherlock. You've only been acting odd this whole day! Why won't you eat anything? And why are you suddenly so into drinking wine? I've only seen you drink it once, on Christmas Eve. What's going on inside your head?"

There were so many questions and Sherlock didn't know if he could answer all of them. He couldn't help it if he wasn't hungry enough to eat. Although a part of him he didn't want to admit knew that wasn't entirely true; his stomach growled and longed for nourishment but it was Sherlock who was denying it such. The death of his mother didn't help matters though either, and although he'd never admit it to John, he felt partially responsible for her death. He knew why he was drinking; he was drinking to forget.

"I'm fine, John. You're just overreacting."

"That's complete bull and you know it, Sherlock! Tell me what Mycroft said to you! Something happened over there… you need to let me in because if it affects you, then it affects me as well!" John said angrily, hitting the table with his closed fist.

Sherlock resisted the urge to throw the wine glass but he could feel his tongue starting to loosen a bit. "You don't need to know because it doesn't affect you in the least, John! Has it ever occurred to you that not every piece of information that comes to me has any effect on you? Why do you want to know every moment and second of my life anyway? You're not my keeper! I can take care of myself!"

John shook his head and smiled without humor. "You… obviously can't though. How many days has it been since you've last eaten? I know you didn't eat anything with Mycroft because you would've complained about it the moment you saw me. I'm just as good as your keeper. I'm the only one around you enough to make sure you're okay!"

Sherlock sighed heavily and finished off his wine before he stood up shakily, the room spinning from the combination of the wine and from not eating, the alcohol having gone straight to his head. He leaned against the counter for support. "You don't need to take care of me, John! Obviously people like me only resort to drinking alcohol in times of only celebration and distress and I'm not celebrating anything, so you tell me why I just downed two full glasses of wine," Sherlock slurred.

John pushed his plate aside and stood up, seeing his friend wobbly slightly as he let go of the counter. "Talk to me, please. I want to know why you were over at Mycroft's…"

Sherlock stumbled slightly and laughed. "Mycroft… what a silly name… hey, where are we going?" he asked now, feeling John put his arm around him carefully and start to lead him out of the kitchen.

"We're going to bed, Sherlock…"

At this answer, Sherlock laughed again but let his roommate guide him towards his bedroom. "Now, now, John! I'm not even sure if I sit on that part of the fence," he smirked playfully.

John gently set him down so Sherlock was laying on his back on his bed. His laughter soon diminished though and his eyes filled with glossy tears. John looked at him worriedly and pulled back the sheets of the bed back so he could help get his legs underneath them. "What's wrong, Sherlock?" He whispered, searching his friend's face.

Sherlock barely even noticed when his tears spilled out of his eyes and made hot trails out of the corners and ran down his pale face. "Our mum died, my and Mycroft's mum. She died the other day…"

John felt speechless, seeing the tears trailing down his face and hearing his raspy, cracking voice. He sighed and looked down at his lap. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I'm sorry, that's really tough. How did she die?" he asked, perhaps taking advantage of Sherlock's loose tongue.

Sherlock looked back towards the window but he was crying, his shoulders occasionally shaking. "B-Brain aneurysm… it was her second one," he answered softly. "Did you know about it?"

There was no accusation in his voice but John cocked his head to the side with curiosity before shaking his head. "No, I swear I had no idea, Sherlock. Why do you think I did?"

Sherlock wiped away his tears with his arm and he sniffled. "Mycroft said he tried to… to get a hold of me when it happened, the other day. He said he tried to call several times, and… and I didn't pick up."

John tried to think back to the other day. They were in the middle of their case but they had hit a rough patch that had left both of them frustrated. John had went over to Sarah's flat and stayed there the whole day. It only now occurred to him that he had no idea how Sherlock had spent his day of frustration. "Why didn't you answer your phone, Sherlock?"

The question was merely curious and likewise not accusing. Sherlock felt fresh tears prickle his grey eyes once again and this time he swallowed the sob that was about to escape. "B-Because… I-I was… I was high," he cried, his chest trembling now. "I was high and didn't hear my phone ring…"

John took out Sherlock's phone from his pants and looked through it.

_4 Missed Calls From Mycroft Holmes. _

No voicemails. Why hadn't he bothered to leave a voicemail to tell Sherlock what had happened to their mother? Sherlock usually ignored calls from his brother but he at least had the decency to check his voicemails from him. He set his phone on the bedside table and laid down beside his friend. Sherlock looked over at him and tried to smile through his tears but it was no good. This time a sob did escape from him and he couldn't stop it in time.

He buried his face in the pillow, half on his side, half on his stomach. "I-I was bloody high and I didn't even know my own mother had died!" Sherlock hadn't meant to say it, but he couldn't stop himself.

John looked over at him and awkwardly put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, gently squeezing it. "Getting high wasn't responsible but you couldn't have known your mum was going to pass away. It's not like you knew she was having the aneurysm and chose at that exact moment to get high, Sherlock. Besides, Mycroft should've left a voicemail. I looked through your phone and it appears he only called and hung up when the voicemail kicked in. You can't blame yourself."

Sherlock took a shaky breath curled into himself before he forced himself to look at John, feeling more vulnerable than he had ever felt before in his life, more out of control of his emotions. He reached out and suddenly clung to John's shirt, one arm wrapping around his neck and holding onto him for dear life. He breathed John in, smelling his friend's aftershave and garlic from the pasta. He felt safe though and even though his intellect was telling him this wasn't natural for a friend to do, he felt like maybe he needed someone after all.

He felt John wrap both his arms around him now, maybe out of sympathy or maybe just because of their awkward body positioning on the bed. Either way, it didn't matter; John was his friend and he needed to feel in control of something.

John gently caressed Sherlock's back soothingly, trying to comfort him. "Hey, hey now… you're okay. You're going to be all right. We'll get through this together."

Sherlock just nodded, not fully believing it but wanting to indulge John. He was the only real person he could trust, and they both knew this. He held onto him until his alcohol induced tiredness got the best of him. He felt his eyes close and then soon drifted off to somewhere else.

**.o.o.o.**

**.o.o.**

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, he saw daylight just starting to break through the buildings. 5:20 in the morning, he deduced. He turned over and saw that John was no longer lying beside him. He hadn't been so drunk that he couldn't remember last night's events though. He remembered, but at the same time he wanted to forget.

He had told John about his mother passing away, something he hadn't wanted to do. It was also pretty much implied that he felt responsible for his mother's death, something else that Sherlock hadn't anticipated confessing to John ever, as long as he lived. He hardly ever confessed anything to him, any guilt he felt at all, and he didn't plan to start until last night.

Just thinking about last night made his eyes well again with saltwater but this time he blinked them back forcefully. The more he thought about last night, the stronger he could feel his stomach churning with nausea. This time, he couldn't hold it back. As the feeling rushed upwards, he ran towards the bathroom and knelt down in front of the toilet in time to taste the wine from last night come back up. After he emptied his stomach, he flushed and sat against the bathtub, sweat beading on his forehead.

There was two knocks on the bathroom door now, and then John's familiar voice. "Sherlock? You all right in there? Do you need any help?"

What idiotic questions to ask, Sherlock thought to himself as a sharp, throbbing sensation spread itself through his forehead and temples. Of course he wasn't all right, he was hung over and hadn't eaten anything in nearly three days. His body was paying for it now, though. John couldn't help him, so that question was already answered.

"I'm fine, John!" he called out, just wanting him off his back. "I'll be out in a few minutes." Sherlock paused, another thought occurring to him as the room began to spin. "Hey, John? Can you get me a glass of water?"

The request must have surprised John because he didn't answer right away but when he did, it seemed eager. "Yes, sure. Of course. I'll set it out here on the coffee table by the couch."

Sherlock heard him walk away and then forced himself up to the sink, washing his face and then looking at his complexion in the mirror. He absentmindedly grabbed at the extra skin on his cheeks and on his neck. There wasn't much there but there was still something that bothered him about it.

_Fat. That's all you are. Fat. That's all you'll ever be… _

"Shut up," he ordered to no one except the bathroom mirror. He finished up what he had to do and then walked out of the bathroom to see the promised glass of water sitting on the table.

He grabbed it and drank it thirstily, his mouth dry and feeling parched. He downed it quickly and then walked into the kitchen to refill it again. Sherlock felt slightly better after his second glass but found the room was still spinning around him. That had to be from the lack of food. He grabbed a chair and sat down, feeling odd and suddenly having trouble breathing.

John walked over to him and then his eyes widened when he saw Sherlock's state. "Sherlock? What's going on?"

Sherlock felt panic begin to rush through him. He looked up at John. "S-Short of br-breath…"

John grabbed his friend's wrist and counted his heartbeat. "Sherlock, your heart is racing. Did you take anything in there? Any stimulants?"

Sherlock shook his head. "N-No…"

"Okay, just try and calm down then. I'm pretty sure you're feeling this way because of recent events. You need to try to breathe. You're having a panic attack, Sherlock. Inhale through your nose, and then exhale through your mouth!"

Sherlock heard John's commands and closed his eyes as he attempted to do this. His breaths were shaky but he was able to do so. He did it a few more times and then heard John's calming voice again.

"Good, that's brilliant, Sherlock. You're doing great. Your heart's slowing down a bit now… just keep inhaling through your nose and exhaling through your mouth a couple more times. How are you feeling? Dizzy?"

Sherlock opened his eyes again, able to finally catch his breath now but he still saw the room spinning around him. "A-A bit, yeah…"

John forced Sherlock to look upwards towards the light near the window to examine his pupils and then brought his head back to normal height. "The oxygen's just trying to find its way back to your brain, but you should be okay. You're going to eat something now, I mean it, Sherlock. Just stay there and keep breathing."

Sherlock couldn't see him but by the sounds of the toaster rattling, the fridge opening, once and then twice, and finally the cupboard opening once, he deduced that John was making him toast with butter and pouring juice for him.

Without warning, his head then started to compute other numbers, calories… something he had never felt compelled to think about before.

**Bread x 2 = 80 calories/slice x 2 = 160 calories**

**Butter (2 tbsp) = 20 calories x 2 (1 tbsp per slice) = 40 calories **

**Orange juice (8 oz) = 120 calories**

**Total calories for breakfast = 320 cals **

Sherlock looked down and saw a plate in his lap and his juice sitting on the corner of the table. He swallowed hard before he took a piece of toast and started to nibble on it, forcing himself to keep eating it, regardless of the calorie counting he had done in his head. He needed this to live. He needed to eat to keep his energy up to do the cases.

John watched as he ate, to much of his displeasure. He had finished one piece of toast and had drank half his juice when he finally spoke to John. "Do you think you can do me a favor and forget everything I told you last night?"

John rested his chin on his hands. "Why do you want me to forget about all of that? You made progress, Sherlock. You… let yourself feel something for once. Why is that such a bad thing?"

Sherlock shot a glare at his friend but continued to eat, mentally telling himself the faster he ate, the less John wouldn't nag him about eating. "I've told you before. Feelings and emotions get in the way. I can't afford to feel anything during a case except interest and perhaps adrenaline. If I feel something towards the victim, then I won't be able to focus properly on the case at hand. Just forget about last night, John. I apologize for my outburst towards you and for my behavior in the bedroom but I just need to forget about it all."

John wet his bottom lip in thought and then nodded. "Yeah, very well then. All right…" he nodded in reluctant agreement before he stood up and started to make himself some coffee.

Sherlock finished his last piece of toast, choking it down so he wouldn't have to think about the calories until later. As he proceeded to finish his orange juice, he felt a new kind of panic rise up now. This one felt like the first but at the same time, it was slightly different. He had panicked about last night and about the death of his mother earlier, but now he felt panic towards the calories that he had consumed.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to will them away, out of his head. He had to delete the numbers; they weren't important, right? He couldn't keep them in his head. He took another breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth again slowly, panic increasing as the number refused to delete in his mind.

A real fear entered his mind: What if he couldn't delete the calorie amounts? What if once someone started to count the increments, they were stuck there forever? His hunger diminished once again, being replaced by nausea. He needed to delete the unimportant information to make room for the essential during cases, but what if he couldn't 'delete' the unimportant and it just blocked up everything else? He wouldn't be able to process new information or recapture the old that he already had hidden away.

Sherlock put his face in his hands and closed his eyes, feeling an anger turning his blood to ice.


	3. Going Home

**So I couldn't remember if Sherlock ever mentioned the place where he grew up so I'm sort of pretending that he lived in the place I mention in this chapter. Even if it's not correct, just go along with it please. It's just part of the story.**

* * *

Chapter Three: Going Home

**.o.o.**

**.o.**

Sherlock tsk-tsked in disgust as he read the paper, cringing every time he saw the picture of himself in the deerstalker cap. He despised that hat that he would've thrown it into the fireplace if John hadn't tried to stop him. He read on until he came to the Obituaries section and felt his heart drop into his stomach when he saw his mother's name by an older picture of her. He froze, his head replaying the scene from last night as he had cried into his friend's shoulder like a small child.

"_Why didn't you answer your phone, Sherlock?" John had asked him._

"_I was high and didn't hear it ring…"_

Would it had made a difference if Sherlock had answered his phone? He reached over and looked through it, searching for the voicemails from Mycroft. He put his pin in before he put the phone to his ear and started to listen to each of the four messages:

"_Sherlock! It's me…" _Mycroft's voice spoke, panic laced in it. "_You need to meet me at St. Bartholomew's Hospital right now. It's mother… something's happening to her!" _

He was taken aback by his brother's abnormally scared and panicked voice. He'd never heard Mycroft speak in this way before. For a fleeting moment he even doubted it was his brother's voice at all. He continued to listen.

"_I don't know what you're doing right now but you need to call me back. It's urgent. This is more important than your bloody cases!"_

"_Damn it, Sherlock. I am tired of hearing your voicemail. You better not be doing what I think you're doing. Come to the hospital, right now."_

Sherlock cured himself and felt his heart pound harder against his ribcage, hearing the disappointment and frustration in Mycroft's voice increasing. He took a deep breath when he reached the last voicemail.

"_Sherlock, it's… it's mum. She's gone, Sherlock. You should stop by and say your final goodbyes to her."_

He clenched his phone harder in his palm, his fingers curling around it. Mycroft sounded so distant in the last voicemail message, almost cold even. Sherlock forced himself relax his fingers on the phone, afraid he might break it. He looked down at the phone and then glanced out the window, watching as the rain started to fall outside. He really was as irresponsible as his brother assumed he was. He was so used to being selfish and cold, always putting his own needs ahead of others; his mother's corpse was rotting in the hospital morgue while he flying high far away somewhere out of his mind.

"You all right?" a soft voice inquired.

Sherlock didn't take his eyes off of the window. "I'm fine, John," he answered briskly. He could see John nod in acknowledgement in his peripheral vision but didn't say anything.

_You should've been there for her when she needed you, when your own brother needed you. Instead you were being useless, getting high in the flat while your mother was dying in a hospital bed. _

Sherlock tried to push back the voice but he knew that the voice was right. He stood up and grabbed his long, black tweed coat. "I'm going out. I'll be back later."

"Do you… need me to come with you?" John asked, worry in his eyes.

Sherlock forced a smile. "No need! It won't be dangerous in the least. I've got my mobile on me in case something arises." He wrapped his scarf around his neck and pocketed his phone before he started out the door and instantly hailed a cab, deciding it'd be quicker.

"Where to?" the cabbie asked him in a monotonous voice.

"Pall Mall, if you please. There's an extra tip in it for you if you're silent the whole way," Sherlock bribed the driver.

He felt nervous as the driver started down the street towards Mycroft's place, unsure what to expect. He took out his phone and decided to warn him he was coming. His fingers shook slightly, but he wasn't sure why.

_I'm on my way to Pall Mall. I wish to speak with you - SH_

He sat back slightly, trying to ignore the panic that was rising up within him once again. He heard John's orders in his head and repeated the steps he took last night; he breathed in through his nose and exhaled silently through his mouth. He did this several times and felt his heartbeat begin to slow back down to a steady rhythm.

He heard the chime of a new message and looked down at his screen:

_Very well. I suppose I'll put the kettle on, in that case. – M_

Sherlock knew that he himself was cold when it came to the affection of others but his brother appeared to be just as colder, even not more. Their mother had just passed and Mycroft was acting like seeing his brother was going to be inconvenience to him. Granted, neither of them particularly enjoyed the company of the other, but they still were able to put on a polite front.

Once he arrived to his destination and paid the driver, he made his way into the building and up towards the room where he knew Mycroft would expect him. He walked in to see a tray consisting of biscuits, two porcelain cups and a Victorian tea pot. Mycroft was just pouring the tea when Sherlock closed the doors behind him.

"As always, I'm so glad to see you, dear brother mine," drawled Mycroft, sitting down in a chair with his cup of tea.

Sherlock grabbed the other cup of tea and sat down in the chair opposite of him. "No you're not, Mycroft. There's no need to lie."

"Alright then, it's awful to see you again. What brings you here when I saw you just yesterday? Are you in need of my help?"

Sherlock sighed and took a sip of his tea, unsure how to go about starting this conversation. He wasn't one to talk about sentimental manners and his heart still ached with the echoes of hearing the voicemails. "Where is our mother right now?"

Mycroft seemed to look down on his younger brother over his cup. "I expect she'll be on her way to the cemetery tomorrow morning. Why do you ask? Do you wish to miss her funeral as well as her death?"

The words stung and pierced through Sherlock like sharp icepicks. He glowered at his brother, forcing himself to stay put in his chair and not storm out of the building, dumping his tea on Mycroft on the way out.

"I wish to be there for the funeral, Mycroft. I wish to say my final goodbyes…"

"It's a shame. You really should've said them when she was still alive in the hospital," his brother replied coldly, sighing. "Besides, it's too late. We had a private funeral already. Shame you missed it. I tried calling you…"

Sherlock felt his blood freeze and his heart stop momentarily. He straightened up and looked at Mycroft with dark eyes as a million questions raced through his mind. "What do you mean it's too late? Where did you have the funeral? What have you done with her body?"

Mycroft took another sip of his tea, his expressions unchanging and his voice calm. "I mean, our dear mother's been cremated, Sherlock. Her urn sits on the mantle at our childhood home. We had the procession already. She passed nearly three days ago and father just wanted it over with, which isn't entirely surprising…"

Sherlock set his tea down and stood up, looking at Mycroft with anger blooming in his grey eyes. "W-Who is 'we'? Why wasn't I invited?"

Mycroft's eyes widened and a small smirk appeared on his face. "Invited? Listen to you, dear brother, talking like we had some kind of party without you…"

"Who is 'we'?" Sherlock demanded again, clenching his jaw.

"Father, of course. Me, aunts, uncles, cousins, you know. The rest of the family," Mycroft answered, an edge of arrogance in his voice. "You were invited, being her youngest son. Unfortunately, I have a sneaky suspicion you were floating high above all of us in your stupor. I really thought you had kicked those habits, Sherlock, but indeed it appears they have taken a hold of you."

Sherlock couldn't stop himself anymore. He stormed over to his brother and knocked Mycroft's cup of tea out of his hands, causing it to fly in the air and then land hard on the floor with a crash, causing tiny shards of porcelain to burst in different directions. His brother looked at him in surprise but Sherlock wasn't done.

"You could've done more than just leave me voice messages, Mycroft! She was dying, for God's sake! You should've stopped by Baker Street and told me in person what was happening! But no, I'd be an absolute idiot to expect you to do that! If I had any doubts we had the same blood running through us before, all those doubts are finally put to rest. You're just as cold and selfish as I am! Of course you wouldn't dare to speak to me in person to discuss the situation. Of course you couldn't be bothered to help get me clean so I could say goodbye to mum before her body was burned!" Sherlock yelled, ignorant to the tears that were running freely down his pale face.

Mycroft blinked in shock at his brother's reaction but didn't move. His facial expression quickly changed from shock to what could've been easily interpreted as boredom. "It would've been too late anyway, Sherlock. If this bothers you so greatly, why don't you go back home and say your goodbyes now? It's not like her ashes have disappeared. They're still sitting on the mantle."

Sherlock's anger dissolved and all that remained was his sadness. He quickly dabbed his tear-ridden cheeks with his sleeve before he looked at Mycroft with a foreign softness. "I-I don't know what to do, Mycroft. I… I really messed up this time…" He tried but he couldn't keep the helplessness out of his voice.

Finally, he felt a bit of hope when he saw Mycroft look at Sherlock with pity and sympathy both laced in his identical eyes. He stood up slowly and moved towards him before he placed a gentle hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Go home… go back home and say goodbye to Mum. It's not too late, Sherlock."

He nodded once and took a few breaths to calm himself. He cleared his throat and then took out his wallet before he placed a several fifty-pound notes on the table where the biscuits still lay, untouched. "F-For the one I broke."

Mycroft rolled his eyes but took the bank notes and stuffed them into his pocket. "How kind of you. This is where you should leave now, Sherlock."

"Right. Right then…" He hurried out of the building and hailed a cab. Once he got in, he instructed the driver to head over to Baker Street. He couldn't go back home alone. He needed a friend to be with him. He knew he wouldn't be able to face his father's disappointment alone.

He handed the cab twenty pounds before he leaned forward. "Please stay right here. I'll be but a moment!"

He jumped out of the cab and raced up the stairs the flat where he stayed with John Watson. He burst in the door, causing John to jump and look up in surprise. John looked at him with concern and closed his book. "Sherlock, what's wrong?"

"I need a favor from you, John. I'll explain on the way there, but please just come with me right now. There's a cab waiting outside," Sherlock explained, out of breath.

He could tell his friend had many questions to ask but John knew better to ask them. He grabbed his coat and then followed Sherlock back downstairs and the two of them piled into the cab. Sherlock leaned forward towards the driver. "Kennington, in Oxford!"

John looked over at him with confusion in his eyes as the cab started to drive out of London. "Uh, Sherlock… why exactly are we going to Oxford? Did Lestrade message you or something?"

Sherlock took a deep breath and chewed on his lower lip before he looked down at his phone to check his empty messages, unable to look his companion and partner in the eye. "I'm going to see my dead mother, John."

He sensed John's still curious gaze on him but also felt his empathy as well. "Oh, okay then. Is… is your mother buried in Oxford then?"

Sherlock finally looked back up and shrugged half-heartedly, making an attempt to distance himself from the situation, feeling like he could possibly control that as well. He could control his feelings, couldn't he? Yes… he could, and had to.

"More or less. You'll get to meet my dear old father," he sighed, feeling the dread building up inside of him.

"You seem absolutely thrilled about that," John noted sarcastically, smiling grimly. "I bet he's just as excited to see you as you are him…"

Sherlock looked out the window, finding the rain oddly calming. "I'm sure he would be thrilled if he knew we were even coming. It's odd really, it was my brother and mother who kept him in line when I was younger. She was the bridge that separated my father from his anger and utter disappointment in Mycroft and me."

John's smile faded and he looked downwards upon hearing Sherlock's small confession. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I wasn't aware you weren't that close to him. Why would he be disappointed in your brother and you? You both have… amazing talents."

"We weren't the sons he wished he had, John. He wanted sons who kicked the football around the yard… not ones who read books all day and performed scientific experiments. We were… massive disappointments to him. It was our mother who was genuinely proud of us," Sherlock explained, feeling like the ride was going to be even longer than an hour.

He really wasn't up for explaining their entire childhood to John during this trip and it only made him miss his mother even more. Sherlock and John were silent for a while until Sherlock could stand it no longer, sensing his friend was dying to ask him something.

"Yes, John. What is it? Come on now, speak your mind…"

John sighed in irritation at Sherlock's sixth sense. "I was only going to ask you why you didn't ask Mycroft to come with you."

"I didn't ask Mycroft to come with me because he already paid his respects to our dear mother without me. Apparently the whole family had a lovely procession for her at our childhood home and I wasn't invited."

John's jaw dropped now, suddenly at a loss for words. He glanced out the window in disbelief and then looked back at Sherlock. "That's… unbelievable. I can't believe they would do that. You know, maybe this was my fault, Sherlock…"

He looked over at him, feeling his heart sink. "Why on earth would you think this was your fault? You weren't at the flat… you didn't know Mycroft had tried to ring me up."

"Exactly! I wasn't there with you… I saw how frustrated you were because we kept hitting dead ends and everything, and I just… left you alone with your thoughts!"

Sherlock sighed heavily and shook his head before waving his hand. "Please, John. I don't blame you for any of this. I blame my petulant, stubborn and selfish brother. It was his fault… and my own," he added quietly.

There was a mutual understanding in the car and John knew he didn't need to ask him why it was his fault. They both knew full well if Sherlock hadn't been high and elsewhere, he would've gotten Mycroft's voice message and took the first cab to hospital.

Sherlock fiddled mindlessly around with his phone, trying to distract himself any way he could from his nerves. John glanced over at him and could see the anxiety plastered on Sherlock's face. He wanted to comfort him, tell him things would be okay when they got there but he felt like his words would just be empty to him.

John reached over and laced his fingers in Sherlock's hand before squeezing his palm to his friend's palm reassuringly. His friend flinched at first, as if John's hand had burned him, and he searched his face in confusion. Sherlock swallowed hard and didn't make any effort to take his hand out of John's, however, and the two of them stayed that way until they arrived finally in Kennington, Oxford.

Sherlock felt his bravery escape through his fingertips once they unlocked their hands, but he paid the cab driver a generous tip and then waited by the door patiently for John, half wishing he could screw up the courage to hold his hand again. He restrained himself when he heard the door open and a much older gentleman eying him up and down.

"Sherlock," his father greeted icily.

"Father," Sherlock nodded to him, not feeling any urge to shake his hand or hug him.

The unfriendly greeting didn't go amiss with John when he nodded politely to him. "Hello, I'm John," he spoke, trying to break the icy introductions. "Sherlock's told me almost nothing about you."

His father looked from John to Sherlock and Sherlock automatically knew what his father must be thinking. He stepped inside before his father could shut the door on the two of them and he looked around. "Not much has changed, I see."

"Left it as your mother did. Mycroft stopped by at the funeral wake this past week. Shame that you couldn't be bothered to pay your last respects to your own mother," his father criticized as he walked towards the kitchen.

Sherlock chose to ignore the last part but looked over at him. "Oh, no need to make tea or anything. We're not staying that long."

John glanced at him and then gave an awkward smile to the man. He looked around the house, trying to stay out of the line of fire between them.

"I've already made tea, and the kettle's still hot. Might as well at least offer some tea to your… friend. Anyway, your mother filled up the refrigerator with a ton of baked goods that would be a shame if they went bad…"

Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes before he looked over at John's inquisitive look. "She always bought a massive amount of desserts and biscuits and such and stuffed them down our throats when we were younger just to get rid of them."

"Hey!" His father barked suddenly from the kitchen as he poured the still hot water over a fresh teabag. "At least you can say honestly that you and your brother never went hungry. She did the best she could and I'll be damned if I let you continue to talk badly about the dead."

"I wasn't talking badly about her, Father… I was just making an observation to John. What did Mycroft tell you concerning why I wasn't here?" Sherlock asked, changing the subject.

His father didn't say anything until he shuffled into the living room where the two men were and handed John a mug of tea. "He told us you were tied up with a case that you couldn't get away from. It's your job so that's understandable, of course, but it still would've done your mother's heart good to see her boys together one last time."

Sherlock felt surprised by the answer he had received that he almost lost his balance, but chalked it up to a lack of food from not eating any lunch and here it was now, almost dinner. He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked at the urn that sat on the mantelpiece with the knowledge that his mother was now in there. "Mycroft told you that then? Hm… I suppose he's not completely useless. He was right; John and I were both working a very difficult case that proved itself worthy of our attention. It was impossible to get away from it, even for a funeral. Do you mind… giving me a moment alone with mum?"

John glanced over at Sherlock's father who nodded behind his back and then walked upstairs and disappeared from sight. John was about to turn away as well and head outside to give his friend time alone but was caught off guard when Sherlock gently grabbed his hand to hold him in place.

"Stay here with me, please?"

John caught the plea at the end and knew he had added it to not appear too coldhearted or demanding but he nodded and it was only when he did so when he felt Sherlock drop his hand slowly. He moved closer to the urn and examined it.

"It's… a lovely urn…"

Sherlock looked at it skeptically. "They could've given her better… do you think she's disappointed in me, John? For not coming to her funeral?"

John wet his lips and then shook his head. "No, Sherlock. I'm sure she wasn't. She might've been glad you didn't see her as she was, in her final moments. She probably would've wanted you to just remember her like she was when you were little. Oh god, Sherlock… I can just imagine how you were when you a child," John laughed to himself. "Examining fingerprints and trying to prove that Mycroft spilled the drinks or broke your toys…"

Sherlock let out a hearty chuckle even though his eyes had become glossed over with water and his mouth suddenly felt dry. "Ah yes, that seems along the line of things I did. She always chased Mycroft and I with a broom when our experiments went awry or caused injury to our guinea pig cousins. She would yell so loud, I could swear the neighbors heard us and closed their windows, wondering what the hell was going on in our house."

John chuckled and then stopped when he saw tears begin to fall down Sherlock's face. His tears reminded John of the night before when his friend had drank too much wine and had admitted everything to him. He put his hand on Sherlock's back. "Well thank God, Sherlock. At least I know that you're not a cold robot…" he teased jokingly.

Sherlock sniffed and laughed weakly, wiping away the tears and then taking a deep breath. "Why am I crying, John? I never cried before, at least before last night…"

John looked sympathetically at him and gently patted his back. "This might be one of the great mysteries you won't be able to solve. Sometimes, our bodies deceive us, and give our true feelings away. You can try and hide them deep inside you all you want, Sherlock, but sooner or later, it'll come out without warning. Your mother just died; I'd be more worried if you didn't cry. It's normal, you know… to cry when people you love pass."

"This is my first funeral I've been to, John… for someone I… l-love. I've never experienced this before. This is all new to me," Sherlock remarked, determined to stop crying.

John nodded, listening to him. "It's understandable to be upset, to be sad. It's normal. This is how normal people react, Sherlock. I've lost many friends I've loved. I've… I've gone to many funerals and they all seemed the same, but I cried like a baby at every one of them."

Sherlock smiled weakly and swallowed back a sob before he looked back at the urn on the mantle. He took a deep breath and looked at John. "Thank you, for coming with me here."

"Well it's not like I had much choice, did I?" John chuckled. "When you tell me to go somewhere with you, I'm going along, especially if I know there's going to be danger."

Sherlock laughed a real laugh now and nodded in agreement. "That's right, John… you're not one to resist danger, are you?" he asked rhetorically. He pulled himself together after taking a few more breaths and surprisingly felt better.

John hurriedly drank his tea for the sake of his friend and then heard footsteps coming down the stairs, walking back in their direction.

"Don't think you boys are going anywhere without taking any desserts with you," Sherlock's father accused as he opened the fridge.

Sherlock felt his stomach drop when he saw the four containers that held Danish pasties, turnovers, biscuits, and cake. The panic rose up within in again and he felt his Mind Palace kick into high gear without his permission.

**Danish pastries = 520 calories per  
Turnovers = 350 calories each  
Biscuits = 230 calories per 5 biscuits  
Cake = 440 calories per 1/6 slices**

"Sherlock? Sherlock! Help me out here," John cried out now, bringing Sherlock back to what was going on.

He looked over at John and saw his friend had handed him two of the biscuits and cake containers so he could balance the other two in his arms. Sherlock carefully held the containers in his hands and instantly started outside before mumbling a quick goodbye to his father and then realized they hadn't called ahead for another cab.

When John came back out with his load, Sherlock looked at him. "Looks like we're taking the train back."

He heard John sigh in exhaustion but didn't say anything as he started walking towards the train station with him. Once the two men finally reached the station, their feet ached unmercifully and the desserts were looking more and more tempting to the both of them.

They boarded the train and found seats at a table. Sherlock eyed the pastries with hungry eyes and gently rapped his fingers on the table before he clenched and unclenched his hands.

"Oh for God's sake, Sherlock, just have one already! Food is your friend… you need it to live! One pastry isn't going to hurt you. It might even do you some good."

Sherlock gave him a glare of irritation but carefully pulled a single raspberry pastry out of the container and began to pick it apart with his long fingers, trying to savor the taste of each bite and swallow. With each swallow, he mentally cursed his mother for buying them in the first place but then instantly let that thought disappear with the food.

Sherlock finished the pastry and then felt his hunger increase ten-fold. It was as if his stomach had gotten a taste of the good stuff and craved more of it. He cast his eyes downward at his phone now and ignored the other treats that sat on the table, tempting him. He fiddled with his phone ten minutes more until he couldn't any longer, and then let himself doze off, his head bumping the side window every few seconds.


	4. Coming Undone

**Thanks for the positive reviews! It means a lot people are actually reading this. **

**I apologize for the lengthy chapter! I hope you like it though. Also, more ED stuff in this chapter so read at your own risk :)  
**

* * *

Chapter Four: Coming Undone

**.o.o.**

**.o.**

Once they had gotten home, Sherlock knew what he had to do. He ordered the cab driver to remain where he was on Baker Street and helped John up the stairs with the desserts. After they had set the pastries on the counter where he vowed never to touch another one, he looked at his friend.

"I'll be back shortly, John. I need to do something quickly. Text me if something comes up; I won't be too far away," Sherlock promised.

John looked at him with concern in his eyes and nodded. "Yeah, okay. Be careful, Sherlock."

He left the flat and got back into the car, telling the driver where his next destination was to take him. He knew what John had been thinking with all the worry in his eyes. John had been worried about his friend going somewhere to find his drugs. Sherlock couldn't blame him though. If the tables had been turned, he might be worrisome about John going out all the time too.

He looked down at his phone, deciding not to warn his brother of his visit this time. If Mycroft knew Sherlock was arriving for the third time in three days, he might attempt to stop him, especially after how their last talk had gone. He sat in silence until they arrived at Pall Mall in front of the building his brother would be. He paid the driver and got out of the car before he flashed John Watson's ID in front of the guards on the way inside, quick enough as so they would not see the picture and call for backup security.

"As you were," Sherlock nodded to them, making his way up the stairs.

The guards always appeared to be different ones every time he visited Mycroft, he mentally observed. It could prove a possibly dangerous thing for his brother and the organization but it proved itself very lucky and convenient for himself. No one would ever recognize him. Sherlock was merely a ghost.

Sherlock opened the doors and walked inside the room where Mycroft was sitting. He stood up upon seeing his younger brother and raised an eyebrow.

"For the love of our Queen, why do you continue to pester me with your appearance here?"

Sherlock walked closer to him and then searched his face, certain that his brother had to have ulterior motives for what he had done for him at the funeral procession. "Why did you lie to our father about why I wasn't there?"

The corner of Mycroft's lips turned upwards in a sly smile. "I figured that lying to him was better than telling him the real reason why you weren't at the hospital as well as the funeral. I didn't think it was prudent for the entire family to know you were high."

Sherlock wasn't sure how to feel. He had thought his brother had been doing it in a genuinely nice gesture but really it turned out Mycroft had lied to save face. "Well, I suppose I must thank you, nonetheless."

Mycroft looked at his brother in a slight surprise but waved it off. "Please, Sherlock. I didn't do it for you. I did it for myself. Admitting you have a brother who's an addict is not something one would boast about. While you're here though, there is another matter I wish to discuss with you. Please, sit."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I do apologize, but I must get back to John in case clients show up…"

Mycroft's facial expression changed and he motioned to a chair. "It's about our parental units. Now, please sit, Sherlock, and I'll bring the tea."

Sherlock didn't want anything else to do with his mother or his father, but not out of apathy for either of them; just thinking about his dead mother filled him up with a guilt he couldn't shake and thinking about their father brought up an anger he couldn't deny. Sherlock reluctantly took a seat in the chair his older brother had gestured at and waited for him to come back.

He wondered what else had happened. If Mycroft had offered Sherlock to stay, then it must be important. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait too long when Mycroft showed back up with a tea tray along with small sandwiches. His stomach twisted inside his body but he grabbed his tea cup instead and let his brother pour it.

"Is this something you couldn't call me about? Really, I believe that potential cases require my attention more than anything you have to tell me face to face," Sherlock remarked before taking a sip.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows in amusement and let out a soft chuckle. "Is that so, dear brother? I find that statement interesting since everything I've told you in the past two days has been of the utmost importance… also, I believe I've tried calling you several times but you didn't answer, and that was when our mother had passed away. Calling you has proven itself fruitless, as we've already tested."

Sherlock sighed and looked down at his tea, already regretting what he had said to have it slapped back in his face. "The last thing I need right now is you reminding me how awful of a son I've been, Mycroft. Now what is it?"

He watched him take a sip of his own tea now and then cleared his throat. "Fine, then. Our mother's life insurance went through and has left us with a decent sum of money. Granted, it's not as large as I had expected it to be, but it's still there nonetheless."

Sherlock looked up at him curiously. "Wouldn't it go to our father? Why hasn't he taken it?"

"Those were my initial questions as well but I've talked to him and he simply, for one reason or another, won't accept it. He insists he has more than enough to live out the rest of his days and more to the point, he's passed the responsibility down to me to disperse it," Mycroft explained before he took a small bite out of his cucumber sandwich.

Sherlock thought about this and then a deeper question presented itself to the front of his mind. "Why are you telling me all of this if you plan on taking the inheritance?"

Mycroft took another long sip of his tea and looked at his brother casually, calmly. "I'm telling you this, Sherlock, because I haven't planned on accepting the inheritance money. You're still a part of this family, you being my little brother, and I figured I'd explain the situation to you and see if you were interested if the inheritance funds."

"You don't want money? Are you ill, Mycroft?" Sherlock jested.

His brother scoffed softly. "As you can see, and as you already know, I have more money than I know what to do with between my successful investments as well as donations from my friends overseas. I don't need the money, but I'm aware of your… small… living quarters on Baker Street and it seems to me that you and John are both in dire need of these funds."

Sherlock wet his lips in thought and sipped his tea some more in consideration. "It's true, our living conditions don't meet your standards but we are hardly destitute. How much of an inheritance is it?"

"Five hundred-fifty pounds."

That was milk money to both of them, but it just a ripple in the water to Mycroft. Sherlock started to ideas how he could use this money and they were all selfish. He couldn't stop the thoughts from entering his mind though. He felt like everything that had happened was out of his control; his mother's dead, not being woken up for the funeral, the food. The food was the biggest cause of dismay for Sherlock. Everything felt like it was building up, on top each other.

"I'll take it," he answered surely.

Mycroft's eyes lowered and his smile faded. He seemed to be able to read his brother's thoughts now. He finished his sandwich and didn't speak until he had swallowed the last bite. "Very well," he wrote out the check to Sherlock and stood up before he walked over and handed it to him, but didn't let go when Sherlock placed his fingers on the paper. "Keep in mind, this is mother's inheritance money, and you should use it responsibly, Sherlock."

There was an edge to Mycroft's voice that rubbed Sherlock the wrong way. He despised his brother's nagging. He sighed and took the check from him before he pocketed it. "I thank you, dear brother, but I'll spend this money how I feel fit to." He stood up but his brother didn't move from his close position.

"Are you eating, Sherlock? You look paler than usual."

He was surprised by his brother's concern. "Why do you care if I'm eating or not? You've never cared before…"

Mycroft seemed to have gotten his answer in Sherlock's retort. "Why, in God's name, aren't you eating? Is it because of a case?"

Sherlock wanted to get out of Pall Mall now but stayed where he was. He gave Mycroft a dark glare. "I'm eating more than enough, now if you please?"

His brother stepped out of the way but still looked at him with concern. Sherlock ignored his eyes as he forced his way out of the building and decided to walk back towards Baker's Street, deciding he could use the exercise after eating the fattening pastry earlier. The sun had set as he arrived at 221B and he felt out of breath and sweaty as he made his way up the stairs and into the apartment he shared with John.

He made a beeline for the bathroom and started to undress before getting into the shower and letting the hot water wash touch his cold skin. He could hear footsteps outside the door and then a voice call out.

"Where did you go?"

"For a walk," Sherlock answered over the noise of the shower, deciding it'd be better somehow to not tell John about the money.

This seemed to satisfy John enough to cease with his questions. Sherlock started to think about how Mycroft had been able to at least feign some concern of his brother's eating habits, or lack thereof. Why had he even bothered to ask? It wasn't as if he was looking skeletal by any means. Every time Sherlock looked in the mirror, he only saw pounds upon pounds of fat and disgust for himself. It puzzled him that his brother didn't see what he saw.

After he had washed the perspiration from his body and was shiny and clean again, he got out, dried himself off, shaved, and then went back into the bedroom to get dressed. Sherlock avoided the floor mirror that stood near his dresser, watching him silently, almost judgmentally. He had finished putting on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms on when he finally forced himself to look in the mirror.

He sneered at himself in revulsion. He saw extra skin hanging from his cheekbones that once been sharp and jagged, he still saw the flab on his once tight stomach, extra chins, extra skin around his legs. Every part of him had 'extra' something he didn't want. How did he let himself get like this? Sherlock figured that he'd lose weight, if anything, from running around all the time, solving the cases. He needed an exact amount. He needed to know _precisely_ how fat he was. He pulled out the scale from under his bed and dusted it off before he stepped on it, watching the numbers flicker on the small, rectangular screen at the top.

**160.5**

The number taunted him and at the same time sent his mind spiraling. The point five part made him uneasy. It meant more weight. Half a pound more than he should have. Sherlock stepped off the scale and kicked it back under his bed in anger at himself. He shouldn't have had the pastry earlier; maybe he wouldn't have gained that extra pound.

**Pastry = 520 calories**

**3500 calories in one pound**

**3500 ÷ 2 = 1750 calories in half a pound**

No, there was no logical way of thinking that he had gained a whole pound from one pastry. Then another thought occurred to him: John had made him eat breakfast that morning too. That couldn't have been very much though, right? Sherlock had given his friend the majority of the food.

His illogical frustration made his blood run cold with ice as he glared at his reflection in the mirror. None of it made sense. Why? Why did he have that half pound? What was it from? He had made himself walk quickly to places and even went running. He had only drank tea apart from breakfast and the pastry.

_Maybe it's the milk_

**Milk = 55 calories/4 oz**

He had probably had about that much for all the tea he had daily. He didn't think he could go without the milk though.

Numbers. That's all could focus on. Weight, calories, ounces, serving sizes. A part of him knew how ridiculous it was to even contemplate that it was the milk that had made him gain the weight but there was a stronger part of him that had taken hold and weaved the web of lies inside his head that told him that not only was it possible, it was _probable._

He felt his hands shaking horribly at his sides and he glanced towards the window at the darkness, willing himself to stop looking at his reflection in the glass. He could still see his heavy self in his peripheral vision, however, and before he even knew what he had done, he felt pain shooting in his knuckles on his fingers and the side of his hand. Sherlock looked around him and saw the shattered pieces of glass from the mirror lying at his face and blood running down his arm.

"Sherlock! What happened? Are you all right in there?" came John's voice on the other side as he tried the knob on the locked door.

Panic rose up inside of him, grasping at a lie. "Yes, John! Fine… I just tripped over something and caused the mirror to fall, that's all…"

"Sherlock, let me in. Are you injured?"

Sherlock hated himself for lying to his friend but he felt embarrassed to actually tell John the truth. He took a deep breath and looked at his hand before he cringed and moaned slightly in pain. The glass had cut his skin, some of it a bit deeply. He was in need of assistance. He cursed himself as he unlocked the door and let John inside.

"Jesus, Sherlock! What happened…? There's glass everywhere…" John grabbed a towel from the bathroom and ordered Sherlock to sit on the bed.

"I-I told you, John… I tripped and fell into the mirror," Sherlock lied impatiently, watching as John started to carefully take out the smaller shards in his hand.

John made a hissing sound as he saw how deep the other wounds were. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I don't have the materials to help you when the cuts are this deep. You're going to need stitches. Wrap your hand in the towel and we'll get a cab to the hospital."

Fear and panic set him even more now and he shook his head. "I'm sure you can help me, John. There's no need to take me to hospital! You were a doctor in a war, just grab some thread and a needle…"

John shook his head, carefully wrapping the towel around Sherlock's bleeding hand. "We don't have anything to disinfect the cuts with, Sherlock! There's no bandages or anything here. I'm not going to risk infection by using a needle and thread… we're going to the hospital and that's all there is to it."

Sherlock sighed heavily and bit his lip hard, determined not to give himself away. He finally agreed and let John pull him into a cab, directing it to go to the hospital. He hoped they wouldn't take his heart rate or anything. If they did, they'd see how fast it was. He pushed this fear towards the back, deleting it now. He tried to calm himself in an attempt to lower his heart rate a bit. He couldn't let himself focus on his fears. He needed to focus on getting out of the hospital as quick as possible.

**.o.o.**

**.o.**

**.o.**

"Can you please tell me again how you received this injury, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock looked irritably at the doctor who was placing stitches in his hand after having given Sherlock a minor painkiller to ease the process. He winced at the pain he did feel, regardless of the mild painkiller. "I've told you and the nurse that took me in here that I tripped and fell, crashed against the mirror and I fell on the pieces of glass."

John looked skeptically at his friend before glancing at the doctor to see his reaction. He, too, was looking a bit skeptical about Sherlock's story.

"That's odd. Usually injuries such as yours occur if a person has punched another person, or more likely, an object," the doctor replied softly, concentrating on the stitching.

Sherlock grimaced in pain again and ignored what the doctor had just said, sick of trying to defend his lie anymore. "Tell me again why you couldn't give me a stronger anesthetic? It seems to be the patient is usually in a nice morphine daze in these situations."

The doctor rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Because I know who you are, Sherlock Holmes, and I know who your brother is. After reading your file and talking to Mycroft, it appears to me that it would be almost irresponsible to enable your addictions."

Sherlock sighed and scoffed, having thought he could have no more anger towards his brother until now. "Patients must just love your bedside manner," he drawled sardonically.

The Doctor broke off the stitching thread and applied the antiseptic cream on his knuckles and upon the stitches in his palm and wrist. "Most of them do, actually. Don't worry, Sherlock, I won't explain to Mycroft how you punched an inanimate object."

John looked up at Sherlock with confusion and disappointment. "Wait, that's how you did this? You punched the mirror?"

Sherlock wanted nothing more than for the floor to drop through and swallow him up. He knew John wouldn't understand any of it, and he knew for damn sure that the doctor would indeed gossip to Mycroft about this incident, much to his own dismay. "No, John. This man is a fraud and wouldn't know if I punched a person or a mirror, even if I did it right in front of him. How does it feel to have a fake medical degree? Buying your way into the medical career must be absolutely amazing," Sherlock snarled, deciding that picking apart other people was a successful way to deflect the problem off of himself.

The doctor stood up now and threw the gauze bandaging at Sherlock who caught it easily in his other hand. "Wrap yourself up then and get the hell out of this room, Sherlock."

John watched in surprise as he walked out of the room and then looked back at Sherlock. "I… can't believe he just walked out like that…"

Sherlock shrugged and sighed before he handed the bandage to John who started to wrap it around his hand and wrist expertly. "It's for the best."

John worked on his friend silently, wrapping him up carefully. "Did he really bribe his way through medical school?"

"With flying colors. He's hardly even performed a single surgery, probably scared of needles himself but is it for the money," Sherlock deduced without hesitation. Once John finished the wrapping, he stood up and moved over towards the white drawers in the room. "I didn't punch the mirror, John," he felt the need to defend his lie again.

John looked at him with apprehension in his eyes but just nodded. "I believe you. Let's just… go back home."

Sherlock leaned against the drawers before he moved forward again, sticking his hand into his pocket. "Yes, let's go then."

The two of them had made it out into the hallway when Sherlock ran into someone, sending folders flying and landing on the floor.

"Oh, excuse me…" Sherlock spoke apologetically now, starting to gather up the files. "This was my fault…"

John glanced around in disbelief that there was no one else present to witness Sherlock being a decent human being to someone else. He looked down at his friend. "I'll go check us back out and wait outside."

Sherlock waved him off with one hand and finally looked up to hand the files back, freezing when he saw Molly Hooper. She smiled weakly and blushed furiously as she took the files back from him.

"Thank you, Sherlock. Y-You… you didn't have to do that, you know, help me…" she stammered, avoiding looking him directly in the eye.

He shook his head and looked back down at the floor before he forced himself to look at her. "It was my fault, was it not?"

"No, i-it wasn't. It was mine… I wasn't looking – "

Sherlock sighed and interrupted her. "No, Molly. It was my fault. I walked out of the room without paying attention. My mind was somewhere else," he replied.

She just nodded in acknowledgement and then looked down at his hand. "Oh, what happened there?"

Sherlock frowned at his bandaged hand. "It's… it's nothing. Just a sprain."

Molly looked at him with unsure eyes but just nodded. "Oh, I see. Right," she nodded, not entirely convinced. "Well, I should go now, but… say 'hi' to John for me…" She didn't wait for him to say anything else before she quickly walked back down the hall.

Sherlock stood there, momentarily frozen at Molly's quick conversation. She definitely didn't see as nervous around him as she once had been. He swallowed hard, feeling an ache in his heart. He walked downstairs and then headed out of the hospital, seeing an open cab door and seeing John in the back. He moved into the cab and shut the door.

"Are you all right, Sherlock?" John concerned voice asked him.

He looked out the window before he grabbed his phone out of his pocket and started texting:

_I can't tell you how I appreciate the doctors at Bart's knowing who I am. I know it goes against your gossiping impulse but you really must stop boasting about me. – SH_

"Does it matter if I say 'yes' or 'no,' John? Just say what you really feel and let's get this over with."

John looked at him impatiently now and shrugged. "What's going on with you? First the other day with you asking if you had gained weight, then you keep leaving the flat to talk to Mycroft and you come back, and then with the calories! You're obsessed about food, Sherlock! I just don't understand you… when did you become like this?"

Sherlock couldn't even answer John. He hadn't always been so leery about eating. These habits seemed only to have manifested themselves recently, but he couldn't tell him when. He sighed and his silence irritated John even more.

"You punched the mirror, Sherlock, I know you did! What is happening inside your head? Is this Mycroft's doing? Did he say something to you to cause you to spiral out like this? Either you won't eat or when you do eat, you freak out. I can see the panic in your eyes when you're eating, and you get that same look you get when you're trying to piece clues together in your head, when you make everyone shut up so you can concentrate!"

Sherlock was grateful when they had arrived at Baker Street again but it hadn't come soon enough. He whirled around on John after getting out of the cab and gave him a dark look. "Can we please not do this in public, John? We have our professional image to keep up!"

John scoffed and then hurried inside, followed by Sherlock and neither of them spoke again until they entered their flat. After the door closed, John turned on his friend and partner.

"Image… that's an interesting word for you to use! You can't seem to stand yours lately! Just tell me why you're doing all of this? You're acting like a madman… I can only imagine what you're thinking about inside that head of yours! Probably counting calories and obsessing over every single crumb…." John trailed off, frustration plain on his face.

Sherlock didn't say anything but not because he had nothing to say. He was just in the position that he couldn't deny John's accusations. They sounded ridiculous the way John spat them out at him, but he knew that he couldn't stop them anymore. They were ridiculous and Sherlock knew this, but he just couldn't turn it off and he was sick and tired of lying to John.

"That's it, isn't it? That's what you're doing! You're counting calories," John threw his arms up in disbelief. "That's great! That's just bloody great, Sherlock! You're London's greatest consulting detective and you've become anorexic!" a new thought entered John's head now and he shook his head. "That's why you punched the mirror… you hate yourself. You can't even stand your own reflection…"

Sherlock wet his lips again and tried not to let John see the pain and hurt that was laced in his eyes. "It's… it's not that easy, John. You don't understand how I'm feeling, what I'm thinking," Sherlock feebly attempted. "I'm not anorexic though, for God's sake! Look at me! I'm by no means underweight! I've been gaining, John. I'm gaining weight and it's killing me!"

John spun around now. "No, Sherlock! You're killing yourself by not eating! I'm a doctor, Sherlock, I know an anorexic when I see one! Do you even know what the healthy weight is for a man your height?"

Sherlock shook his head, not having memorized healthy or unhealthy weights with heights. John looked at him with a sad smile. "For someone with your height, you should be between 175 and 185 pounds. Looking at you, I can just tell that you're under that, Sherlock. You have to only be about… 163, at most."

"160 and a half," Sherlock corrected.

John's eyes widened now and he ran his hands through his hair. "160 and a half! Sherlock, you're at least 15 pounds underweight!"

He couldn't believe that; he didn't. Sherlock shook his head, convinced John was just telling him this to gain weight. Sabotage. "I don't know where you're getting your facts from, John, but you must be wrong. There is physically no way I am underweight. I have fat on me, all over me! You're wrong…"

"Oh my God… you can't even see, can you? Sherlock… you have a mental illness going on with you. You need help! It's body dismorphia! You can't see what others see… and it's crippling you. You need help. Just let me help, mate…"

Sherlock took a step back when John took a step forward, laughing to himself. "You're delusional, John… I know what I'm seeing. The mirror doesn't lie but I know you would. You're just gaining weight and you don't want to be alone! I'm not sick. I don't need help, it's _you_ who needs the help, John!"

John Watson looked at his friend worriedly and felt speechless. He bit his lip. "No, Sherlock. Umm…. I just… can't handle this right now. I'm going out for a bit. I'm sorry… I-I'll be back."

"John! John, wait… I-I'm sor –"

John slammed the door before he could finish his apology. Sherlock kicked one of the legs out from the coffee table, breaking and splintering it before he watched the rest of the table give out and grabbed the broken leg before he threw it angrily at the wall.

"DAMN IT! DAMN IT ALL TO HELL!" Sherlock yelled in frustration.

He regretted every word he had said to John in his own rage at himself. He pushed him away when he needed someone the most. But John didn't understand how Sherlock was feeling, and seeing. John couldn't see what he did, and this alone was frustrating enough in itself. He then remembered something.

Sherlock pulled out the packages of morphine pills he had nicked from the drawers back at the hospital in his room. He poked three out of the white package and swallowed them down with water. He made sure to tuck the rest away back in his coat pocket just before he felt the painkillers kick in.

He felt a kick of pleasure spread throughout his body and he carefully moved towards the couch, suddenly feeling fatigued and relaxed. He set his head on the armrest before he took a few breaths in and out, finally feeling some sort of release and escape that he needed as the rest of his world began to slowly come undone.


	5. Promise

Chapter Five: Promise

**.o.o.**

**.o.**

Sherlock didn't know what time it was when he woke up on the floor, looking around at his surroundings. Frankly, he didn't care. He couldn't. John had been scared off by Sherlock's poor eating habits. This was his fault, but he didn't know what to do. He couldn't control the thoughts in his head and if he could take out his own eyes and replace them with ones that worked properly, he'd had done it in a heartbeat, for John.

He rolled over onto his back and looked up at the ceiling, tears trailing down his cheeks. Everything was his fault. He couldn't even blame anything that had happened this week on anyone else; it all had been his fault. His mother's death had somehow been his fault, not showing up at the funeral had definitely been his fault, and now upsetting John Watson was his fault too. What major defect infected him? Why was he like this? Sherlock's chest trembled, his heart feeling like someone had taken a match to it.

These feelings were foreign to him, but he knew now what pain felt like now. He swallowed back a sob that threatened to escape his lips, forcing it back down inside of him. He might feel the emotions he always thought he was exempt from feeling but that didn't mean he had to let them out. It had been his own doing. He had terrified John off. Just looking at his companion's armchair made him feel sick with himself. He sighed heavily before he rummaged through his coat pockets and pulled out two morphine pills he still had left over from the handful he had grabbed at the hospital. He swallowed them with water but then a sudden urge came over him.

Loneliness. Sheer and utter loneliness.

He didn't want to be alone. He wanted to hold John's hand again. He just didn't want to be alone. He pulled on his black trenchcoat jacket when he stopped suddenly, feeling the medications kick in. Sherlock felt dizzy and unsteady and he had to grip onto the table to keep from losing his balance. He needed to amphetamines to keep his mind busy, and possible more morphine pills. He grabbed his phone and staggered down the stairs slowly, the dizziness from not eating combining with the sleeplessness from the pills.

Sherlock made his way out towards the street, furiously flagging down a cab. He climbed inside and rubbed his eyes, realizing the driver had said something to him. "Hm? Sorry?"

"Where to?"

"Mmm… Bart's hospital, please…" Sherlock slurred slightly, trying to get a hold on himself.

"As you wish. A bit early for drinking, isn't it?"

He blinked a few times to get rid of the blurriness in his vision. "Yes… it certainly is. Good thing I'm not drinking though…"

The driver looked back at him in the rear view mirror as he drove towards the hospital. "You don't look that great… did you take something?"

Sherlock was starting to become impatient with the incessant talking from the driver. "I took plenty of somethings."

"You didn't try to OD on pills or something, did you, mister? That's bad news…"

Sherlock opened his mouth and felt a tear running down his face before he looked sharply at the driver's eyes in the mirror. "Just drive, be quiet, and let me know when we're there," he ordered, taking out his phone.

The driver was quiet for ten minutes and then pulled up to the entrance. "We're here… sir?"

Sherlock cleared his throat and looked around before he paid the driver and got out, trying not to stagger inside but found it increasingly difficult. He looked around, perhaps half hoping that John was here. He had to be here; where else would he work? He still worked at Bart's part-time when they weren't working on cases. He walked down the halls until he finally saw the dusty-haired man sitting in his office. John leapt up from his desk and opened the door.

"Sherlock? What are you doing here? Come to finally get help?"

The tone of his voice sounded incredibly patronizing to him that he decided not to answer his questions. He gripped the doorway to steady himself and looked at John. He shook his head. "I don't need anyone's help… I just need… I-I need…" Sherlock trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

What did he need? He needed John, for one. He needed pills for another. Obviously Sherlock just couldn't tell him these things though. He didn't feel brave enough to admit he needed help. "I need to be re-bandaged," he finally got out, thinking quickly as he remembered the stitches.

John gave him a solemn look and then motioned for him to come closer. "I can take a look at the stitches and apply more disinfectant before putting on a clean bandage."

Sherlock shook his head, his head still spinning. "I… no! I want another doctor. If you looked at it, it'd just be… a conflict of interest, wouldn't it?"

John sighed but didn't give up. "Just sit down. Let me look at it, Sherlock. Just because we're not together doesn't mean I don't still care about you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and then finally did sit down and watched as John carefully took the old bandage off, the wound still bleeding slightly through the stitches. He examined the stitching before he applied a glob of disinfectant to the area again. John occasionally looked up at Sherlock to see his reactions but Sherlock made sure not to look directly at him, imagining how his pupils looked right now.

"Does it still hurt a lot? I'm trying to be gentle…"

Sherlock shrugged. "It hurts as much as this sort of wound is supposed to hurt. John, look. I-I'm… I'm sorry I scared you away. I can't help how I am though, and I'm not asking you to either. I know it's difficult living with someone like me but I can't help how I am," he suddenly sputtered out.

John looked up at him and nodded. "I know. I… realize it was low of me to leave you with how you are but… I don't know how to help you if you won't let me help. We're both seeing two sides of you and you can't see how sick you actually are. It doesn't make my job any easier…"

Sherlock simply nodded in understanding, forcing himself to stay awake. Usually he'd conk out on the couch for several hours after taking the morphine pills because they made him so tired. He sighed and looked down at his wound as John had become to bandage it with a clean bandage. Once he was finished, John looked down at his handiwork and then up at Sherlock.

"Do you… want anything to drink? I bet I can make you some tea or… a coffee or something…?"

Sherlock saw his opportunity now. He nodded. "Coffee would be great, John."

"Right then… stay here, and I'll be back in a few," he promised, standing up and then leaving his office, shutting the door behind him.

Sherlock looked around and saw the room move in his dizzy state. He stood up and grabbed at the desk to get over to where John kept his medication stash. It was a backup supply in case he ran out in whatever room he was currently in. He knelt down and dug through it until he found an orange bottle of morphine pills as well as another bottle of amphetamines. He quickly slipped both of them into his pocket and closed the drawer half-hazardly, standing up.

He grabbed at the desk and the chair to stabilize himself before he sat down, nearly falling over. Sherlock took a deep breath and glanced out the small office window before he popped one of the amphetamine pills into his mouth and swallowed it dry, needing to stay awake right now.

It wasn't long before John walked inside with a Styrofoam cup of coffee and handed it to Sherlock, who instantly wrapped his long fingers around it. "Cheers."

John nodded at and sat back down in his chair, watching in worry at his friend. "I would do anything for you, Sherlock. Honestly, anything… but this… anorexia… you need to want to be helped before I can help you. Even if you don't see yourself how you actually are, as long as there's a part of you that's tired of not eating, or obsessing about calories and pounds, then you have a chance. I can help you then. Do you understand?"

Sherlock was quiet for a long time, feeling the amphetamines and the coffee begin to kick in but the morphine pills were still making him feel a bit sluggish. "Yes… I understand, John. I'm not ready to get help yet, though. I just… I'm not ready yet. I need more time."

John's eyes widened. "More time? Sherlock, by the time you're ready, you'll be dead. You're already underweight! At what point are you going to stop this foolishness and stop being so bullheaded and admit you need help?"

Sherlock looked back at him now with hard eyes. "When I feel like I've lost all control and there's nothing else I can possibly do."

John leaned in and then realization spread across his face. "Are you high right now?"

Sherlock stood up. "Look, John. I understand that you can't help me until I'm ready for it. I'm not ready for it yet so stop trying to help me, and stop acting like big brother Mycroft. It only makes you look foolish."

He took his coffee and walked out of the office, feeling satisfied with having the last word. He walked down the hallway and then took the elevator upstairs to the lab where he usually enjoyed being when the world had become unbearable. Sherlock took another drink of his coffee and walked inside before seeing another figure in the room, nearly jumping out of her skin when she saw Sherlock.

"Oh! You gave me a start. I-I didn't realize you had a case. Do you need any help?" Molly offered, casting her eyes from Sherlock's bandage back to his face.

He felt the same ache in his heart now as he had felt before when they had run into each other the previous day. Sherlock tried to keep his firm posture and matter-of-fact tone of voice but inside he was falling apart, crumbling.

"I don't have a case, actually. I just came here to… get away…"

Molly smiled weakly and nodded. "Escapism, that usually does the trick. I must confess, I come here too when I'm sick being… you know, out there. Where's John then? I still haven't bumped into him since – "

"If it's all the same to you," Sherlock cut across her. "I'd prefer absolute silence while the two of us are in here."

He couldn't deny that he felt a tinge of regret seconds after the words passed his lips and saw the dejection in her face. Her smile faltered before she nodded in understanding. Sherlock moved over to one of the tables where someone had started looking at evidence under the microscope but hadn't fully finished the observation. He forced himself onto the stool, his mind beginning to wipe the mud off his thoughts. The amphetamines had begun to work their magic and he no longer felt like he was walking through quicksand. He felt almost normal again.

The two of them worked at their separate stations in silence for nearly an hour until Molly moved over to where he was and searched his face with a slight hesitation. Sherlock looked at her. "What is it?" he asked in a tone that was harsher than he had intended.

"Umm… I'm going to get something to eat. Would you like a snack? Or… more coffee, maybe? I'd be happy to get it so you can stay here and… work," Molly offered, glancing down at his work space.

Sherlock sighed softly and bit his lip before he nodded. "Do you think you could possibly find some tea around here?"

His tone hadn't been accusatory or mean; in fact, he had meant it to be a playful teasing. It came across as such on Molly face, much to his own relief that he had managed to do something right towards another human being for once.

"Sure, I know some people who owe me a favor," she replied in the same teasing manner.

Sherlock gave her a small smile and watched as she walked out. He looked back down into the eyepieces of his microscope to look at the acid on his test palette. He wasn't sure if it was the amphetamines or the coffee but he could feel his heart racing hard against his ribcage. Something had changed with Molly that made him feel more relaxed about being around her. She still had a slight nervousness about her but most of it seemed to have completely disappeared. He wasn't sure what it was but it felt nice and more than bearable to be able to talk and tease with her.

She came back with a cup of something and when she set it next beside Sherlock, he chuckled. "Congratulations, Molly Hooper. You found the tea…"

She smiled brightly, obviously proud of herself. "I had to make a couple of bribes for it but… for you it was well worth it."

Sherlock smiled and took a sip of the tea before he rubbed his temples. "Too bad you don't have anything for a splitting headache…"

She hurried over to the purse that was on the counter of the lab and rummaged through it. "I think I've got some aspirin in here somewhere. Hold on a moment."

Sherlock stood up and shook his head. "No, Molly… it's fine, really. Don't… don't trouble yourself. I'll be okay. It's just from… overthinking."

She looked up apologetically from her purse now. "Well that's a relief, because I can't seem to find them anyway."

"Yes, then. That is indeed a relief for you," Sherlock chuckled awkwardly, nodding.

The two of them stood there in a silence that seemed to choke him until he felt compelled to say something. "Molly, umm… a-are you… doing anything after here? I mean, before you go home? Do you have any plans you've made up already? Damn it… I-I don't seem to know how to ask this…"

Molly blushed slightly and she smiled up at him. "No, Sherlock. I'm not doing before I go home. I don't have any plans. Did… you want to do something?"

He nodded and took a deep breath before he exhaled slowly, trying to catch his breath. As his heart raced, he felt like he was having difficulty breathing now and his dizziness increased. "Umm… yes, I-I do… would you like to – "

His question was cut off when he suddenly felt himself fall onto the floor. He blinked for several moments, the lab blurry and moving around him. Sherlock closed his eyes to try and focus on staying still from his position on the cold tile.

"Oh my god, Sherlock!" Molly knelt down and Sherlock saw fear present in her eyes. "W-What should I do? Should I get a doctor?"

He shook his head but then started to rethink it. Even if she got a doctor, there was a good chance John would show up soon enough anyway. Sherlock decided to try and help himself, having read several books. "I-I think… that this might just be from having forgotten to eat today and… and a panic attack," Sherlock half lied, not wanting to admit to taking the amphetamines and the morphine pills even though he knew his blood work and urine sample would test positive for both.

"Oh, umm okay, then. What do you want me to do?"

Sherlock held his hand out towards her, still closing his eyes. "Take my hand, Molly. I-I just… I just need to try and calm down and I'll be okay…"

Molly hesitatingly took Sherlock's hand in her own and held it firmly. "Oh wow, your hand is so cold! Is… is this okay?"

Sherlock nodded but felt his heart start beat even faster at the touch of her soft, warm skin. Oh God, was it ever warm… it felt so nice. He swallowed hard and breathed in through his nose before letting it out through his mouth, like he had done that one day at home with John. "Y-You're doing great, Molly Hooper… just keep holding my hand and… talk to me for a bit…"

"Sure, of course… umm… does this happen a lot to you? When did you start having these attacks?"

"Not helping… we need to talk about something else, Molly! Talk… about something that doesn't involve what's going on right now… p-please," he added as an afterthought, afraid of scaring her away too.

"Oh, right. Okay…" Molly still held his hand in hers as she took several moments to think. "Oh god, Sherlock… do you remember the first time you met Jim, and you told me he was gay? I was in shock and that's all I could think about for days. I mean, he wasn't necessarily… but then again, he sort of was…" Molly rambled, chuckling in disbelief at the situation.

Sherlock looked up at her now. "Oh, that psychopath that actually turned out to be my worst enemy? Right, how could I ever forget him?"

Molly saw Sherlock start to laugh now and she joined in, relaxing. She chewed on her lower lip in though, the two of them still holding hands. "I have nothing except anyone who… is like that, I swear, but… it does explain a lot of things between us, me and Jim. I guess it's sort of a good thing we broke up. I might've ended up dead!"

Sherlock felt charmed by her personality and her ability to joke about such serious things. He couldn't stop himself from laughing until he jokingly scolded her. "S-Stop it, Molly! Stop… I'm trying to catch my breath and you making me laugh like this isn't helping!"

Molly smiled brightly. "I'm sorry! Even you have to admit it was sort of funny though… I don't know what else to talk about, Sherlock… are you sure you don't need me to get a doctor?"

Sherlock soon was able to stop laughing and he sighed, his chest experiencing pains now. He groaned and grimaced, clenching his jaw tightly. "Do me a favor and… get John… okay? G-Get John…"

Molly nodded obediently and ran to the phone before she hit the PAGE button and Sherlock soon heard her voice come over the entire hospital PA system. "John Watson to the pathology lab, John Watson with a stretcher, report to the pathology lab. Code Blue…"

He felt the pill bottles in his pockets along with his phone and he debated what to do. Sherlock didn't want Molly to go rummaging through his pockets but he also knew it'd be worse if John found them. He knew that time was limited now and he didn't really have a choice because both options were not good for him.

"Molly, come here! Listen to me carefully… I-I want you to take my coat, t-take it back to 221 Baker Street but then come back here, okay? Can you do that?" Sherlock asked, looking up at her.

She looked at him with confusion in his eyes but nodded surely and helped him take off his black coat. He placed the coat over her arm and held it close. Molly looked at Sherlock with soft, hopeful eyes. "I'll come back then and check on you… okay?"

Sherlock nodded once and felt the pain spreading. He looked up at her. "P-Promise me you won't look in the pockets, Molly Hooper. P-Please… promise me that…"

John suddenly came bursting through the doors with a long stretcher and one other man with a white coat on. "Sherlock!"

He looked pleadingly at Molly. "Promise me," he whispered only so she could hear him. "Promise me, Molly…"

She nodded quickly. "Yes, sure… okay, I promise. I promise, Sherlock…" she whispered back, understanding whatever was in the pockets, it was something he didn't want John to know about.

John and the other doctor helped Sherlock onto the stretcher and rolled him out of the lab before they hurried into the ER. He looked down at Sherlock and took a flashlight as he tested his eyes. "Sherlock, you need to tell me what it was you took!"

The consulting detective looked up at the doctor but didn't lock eyes with him. It made it easier somehow to tell John the truth when he wasn't looking at him. "Two lines of cocaine and two morphine pills this morning," he partially lied once again.

Cocaine was an amphetamine. It had the same effects, the only difference was that the amphetamine was prescribed and in a bottle. Plus, he really did take the morphine pills before he had left earlier. John looked at him, shaking his head with a sadness in his eyes that told Sherlock he was sorry, without even saying so. The last thing he remembered was having an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, and then soon fell asleep.

**.o.o.**

**.o.**

**.o.**

When Sherlock woke up again, he felt groggy and felt an uncomfortable pain in his arm. Glancing over, he found the source; they had placed an IV into his arm and into his hand. At least he didn't have any tubes going in his nose or any nutrients pumping through his tubes to make him fatter. He relaxed slightly and saw John stand up from where he had been sitting in a chair near the corner.

"Good, you're awake. How do you feel?" he asked, more professionally than Sherlock would've liked.

"Fine. I feel fine, John. What did I have? It felt like the same thing I had the other day in the kitchen, a panic attack of sorts…"

John wrote something on his clipboard and looked disappointedly at Sherlock before he looked down at him. "You could've died, you know that, Sherlock? You scared me half to death!"

Sherlock sighed to himself and blinked slowly. "I'm sorry, John."

John waved off his friend's apology and looked like he was ready to throw the clipboard. "You're lucky I didn't tell them about your eating disorder, Sherlock… you're… so lucky." He shook his head and sighed heavily. "Tests came back while you were sleeping, by the way. Amphetamines! Morphine… I'm disappointed in you, Sherlock! I really am this time. It's like you have a death wish!"

Sherlock was already growing bored of John's scolding and he felt so homesick that he couldn't even let himself feel bad for worrying John anymore. Sherlock had his own problems, bigger problems, and John didn't have to be one of them. He looked down at the wires and tubes.

"When can I leave? I have appointments to go to and people to meet with."

John sighed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You have a case?"

"Not yet, but I expect to by the time I get home," Sherlock fibbed, glancing over at John.

The two remained in an uncomfortable silence as John stared at his friend with cold eyes. "Well, you have a visitor. Molly Hooper came around to see how you were feeling. You should stay here overnight for observation but I know that because you're Sherlock Holmes, you'll do whatever you feel fit to and no one can stop you so… there it is, I suppose."

Sherlock watched as John turned his back on him and he finally forced himself to say something. "John! Don't leave this room angry at me…"

He didn't turn back around to face Sherlock but he spoke. "I'm not angry at you, Sherlock. I'm just… scared for you, and I wish that you could get yourself back together." He then walked out of the room and left Sherlock alone again.

The detective lay back in the bed before he pressed a button that made his bed bring him up in a sitting position. He felt a mixture of emotions towards John but the first couple that came to mind was anger and frustration. John simply didn't understand anything. He didn't know how to help him, how to make him want help, or even how to love him at his worst. He felt a pain in his heart that couldn't be cured intravenously. Sherlock looked down at the wire that ran to his finger and the tubes that went through the back of his hand. He then heard a knock at the door and saw Molly walk inside.

"Hey, how are you feeling, Sherlock?"

He nodded and shrugged. "I'm better, thanks to you, Miss. Molly Hooper," he forced a small smile. "My hero…"

She searched his face, desperate for answers to the questions that were written on her face. She pulled up a chair and sat down beside his bed. "Did they say what happened?"

Sherlock could lie to her. They weren't a couple or anything. There were no sincere feelings between them, right? He shook his head. "It was just from not eating anything all morning and last night. I was just busy and forgot. That's all…"

Molly looked skeptical now and for a fleeting moment, he saw a bit of John in her eyes. She shook her head. "Sherlock, I know that… that I'm not as smart as you are, but… I'm also not as thick as you think I am. Don't lie to me like you lie to everyone else. Just… please don't."

He closed his eyes and exhaled. He didn't want to ruin whatever it was he had between Molly. She had helped him so many times in the past and all he had given her was a lesser cold word or a half-hearted 'thanks.' He knew he owed her answers. "Molly, there are… so many things you don't know about me, and if I told you half of them, you'd never want to speak to me again."

This brought her attention back to him. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and she looked down at her lap uneasily. "Excuse me for saying so, Sherlock, but I think on the list of terrible things having done, my dating a serial killer tops that list."

Sherlock tried to smile to ease her anxiety about the topic but he couldn't bring himself to do. He really didn't feel like he had nothing to smile about. "Tell me what you want from me, Molly. You're… a good friend to me and my only one at the moment. I don't want to lose your friendship. Y-You… mean a lot to me."

Her eyes seem to brighten up a bit now and she nodded in understanding. "I don't want to lose your friendship either, Sherlock. You've changed, a lot… in amazing ways. I don't understand why or how, but… you mean a lot to me too. I don't know what I want from you, though and I'm terrified to ask."

Sherlock mustered a kind smile and reached over meekly and took her hand in his again. "I owe you for saving my life. Anything you want. Just name it and it's done."

She was quiet for a moment and smiled to herself before she looked at him with hopeful eyes again. "A date…?"

Sherlock felt his heart ache once again and he couldn't tell if it was because he was thinking of John or Molly. John didn't anything to do with him anymore and probably wouldn't have saved his life if he wasn't a doctor. All he had was Molly. He nodded once, firmly. "Then a date it is, Molly Hooper. I suspect I'll be here overnight but would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

She nodded eagerly and smiled brightly. "Yes, Sherlock. I believe I would love to do that."

"Great, then. It's settled. Is my coat safe and sound at Baker Street?"

Molly's smile still hadn't disappeared. "It is. I hope it doesn't creep you out or anything but I put your coat in your bedroom in the closet. I thought about putting it on the couch but I-I didn't know if John was still living with you or not and I didn't think you wanted him to know about whatever was in your pockets so… it's in the bedroom."

Sherlock chuckled now to himself, surprised but also very thankful. "That was brilliant thinking. Good job, Molly Hooper. Thank you, very much for doing me that favor. That means a lot to me."

She blushed furiously and waved it off. "It's nothing, really." She was quiet for a while, still holding his hand when the question that had been nagging at her finally slipped out. "Umm… when are you going to tell me what's in the pockets of your coat?"

Sherlock looked at her with curiosity and tried to read her:

**Honest**

_Loving_

**Selfless**

_**1 cat **_

_Attractive_

**Educated**

_Coffee drinker_

He raised his eyebrows in wonder and gently narrowed his eyes. "You really didn't look in either of the pockets…"

"Of course not. You told me not to, so I didn't. I wouldn't do something you didn't want me to do…" She replied in a tone that seemed like it would be obvious to him.

Sherlock grinned now and gently squeezed her hand in his. "Thank you… thank you, Molly."

She looked a bit confused but smiled softly. The two of them stayed like that until Sherlock soon fell asleep, most likely a product of the IVs in his hands. He occasionally squeezed for her as he slept, and he could feel her squeeze back softly until the sun started to rise and he no longer could feel the warm skin he had already become so used to feeling.


	6. Skeletons in the Closet

**I know I've already mentioned it in the initial summary, but be aware there might be some ED triggers in this story. I don't wish to trigger you if you have an ED so please be careful if you're reading this. **

* * *

Chapter Six: Skeletons in the Closet

**.o.o.**

**.o.**

Sherlock woke up alone in the hospital room and smelled the sterile scent that hung in the air thickly. He sighed heavily and looked down at the wires still in his arms and his hand as the machines next to him measured his vitals. There was no reason for him to be here; he wasn't feeling the pain in his chest anymore or having difficulty breathing. He could feel himself going through nicotine withdrawals.

He unhooked the plastic conductor pads that were hooked onto his forearms, causing the machine to buzz and scream at him in protest. He was about to unhook the tube that went into his hand when he saw John hurry inside, panic spread on his face.

"I-I… I thought something had happened…" John stammered, out of breath.

Sherlock looked up at him. "I need to get out of here. I cannot stay in here like a rabbit in a cage. There's nothing wrong with me. We know the cause of my… panic attack… or whatever it was earlier. Now get these things off of me, John."

The doctor looked disapprovingly at his friend but reluctantly plucked the tube out and grabbed an adhesive gauze pad and placed it on top of the small hole where a thin spurt of blood had begun to come out. He unhooked the other wires from Sherlock and shut the machines off before he wrote something on his clipboard. "This won't help you, Sherlock. You need to stay here and get the help you need."

Sherlock Holmes sighed, rolling his eyes before he stood up and waited a bit to get his balance back before he started to put his regular clothes back on. "I don't need help, as I've told you before. I'm perfectly fine."

John threw his arms up now in impatience. "Oh yes! Besides nearly having a heart attack, overdosing, and being anorexic, you're just fine! There's nothing wrong with you at all!"

"John… I'm very grateful you helped me. I know what I'm doing though. I know my limits," Sherlock affirmed, confidence in his voice.

His friend looked at him with false astonishment. "Oh? You think so? What about Molly Hooper? Does she know your limits?"

Sherlock felt a tight feeling in his stomach, not liking the almost threatening tone in John's voice. He tried to remain calm and raised his eyebrows. "I'll tell her in due time. It's probably best not to scare her off before we get to know one another."

"I already know that being the genius you are, you already know every detail about Molly, and you're just leading her on by not telling her your little addictions and the skeletons in your closet," John replied in an icy voice.

Sherlock tucked in his button down shirt in his pants. "I'm not leading her on, John! Damn it… I'm just… not ready for her to know about my skeletons. I'd like to tidy up my closet a bit first before I shove my skeletons out!"

"Ready or not, you still need to warn her first before she gets too deep in… whatever _this_ is with you! Hell, what am I even saying? You wouldn't even let anyone get close enough to you to actually allow yourself to love another human being! For all I know, you might not even have the ability to love someone else, forget even caring for another person! You're just going to let her live in a beautiful, ignorant bliss!" John yelled at him now as he slammed down his clipboard on the hospital bed.

Sherlock shook his head and was trying to keep himself calm but it was becoming increasingly difficult. He walked over to him now and searched John's face. "Contrary to what you believe, John, I am capable of feeling particular emotions about someone else and I can't even tell you if it's love but I feel like I care about Molly more than I've ever cared about another person, besides you, that is. I'm rather surprised though; I really thought you'd be absolutely ecstatic about me making an effort to build a relationship with someone else…"

"Well, I probably would be a bit happier about it if you weren't selfishly hiding your secrets from her, Sherlock. If you weren't anorexic, dangerous underweight and addicted to drugs, then oh yes, I would be completely on board with you and Molly!"

Sherlock put his socks and shoes on and then looked at John again as he walked towards the door. "But… I am those things, John, like it or not. I can't change those things because… I can't see what you see and the drugs help me to focus and concentrate on the important matters at hand. I'll tell her, I know I have to do that. I just want the timing to be right."

John looked at his friend as if he was seeing someone else he didn't recognize. He just shook his head in disbelief and grabbed his clipboard. "If you don't tell her soon, I will. She has a right to know what she's getting herself into with you."

Sherlock smirked slightly and looked at John. "No, you won't. You won't tell her because it'll hurt her, and you risk yourself losing my respect as well as my friendship. It would be detrimental to everyone involved."

John moved closer to him now and with a seriousness and determination in his eyes that Sherlock's never seen before, he spoke threateningly. "Try me, Sherlock. _I dare you…"_

He wasn't sure if he had underestimated John or not, but he couldn't stand here and take his threats anymore. Sherlock moved around him and left the room, heading out of Bart's hospital and back to Baker Street. He was halfway up the stairs when he heard Mrs. Hudson's voice echoing off the walls.

"Sherlock? Is that you?"

"Of course, Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled, not stopping to chat. "Is there something you wanted from me?"

"I only wanted to know what you were up to tonight!" She called back up to him. "I hate to think of you being cooped up by yourself up there all alone…"

Sherlock leaned over the railing. "Never fear, I have a date tonight! There shall be no further inquiries now so we can stop yelling!" He ran up to his flat and walked inside before he glanced at the clock.

3:45.

They hadn't set up a time or anything for their promised date. He tapped his teeth against each other in thought, wondering what he should do. He pulled out his phone and texted Molly:

_What time would you like to start and where shall we have dinner? – SH_

He paced, waiting for her reply eagerly as his heart raced in his chest, except this time it wasn't caused by amphetamines. He decided to kill some time by going into his bedroom and checking his long coat to make sure his stolen prescription bottles were still there. Sherlock felt the rounded texture of the orange bottles once he stuck his hand in and felt the tops before he relaxed slightly as he heard the chime of his phone.

_5 and my place? Is that okay? – Molly H._

Sherlock texted her back saying that both were fine and he'd be there then. He hopped in the shower, washed the stench of hospital off his body before he shut the water off and dried off. It was almost 4:15 by the time he got changed in his silk lilac button down dress shirt, black pants, and a nice pair of shoes.

He paced for a bit, trying to figure out how John would act for a date. Then he realized, John wasn't him. John wasn't addicted to nicotine and didn't smoke. He swallowed hard, thinking as he continued to pace. He couldn't very well smoke at Molly's apartment; she was sure to disapprove of it. Then another part of him asked, well why did he care so much?

"It's a date," Sherlock said aloud, the words gliding across his tongue, foreign to his ears. It was potentially serious.

He walked over to his desk and pulled out two nicotine patches and slapped them onto his forearms. Three might be overkill for a first date but two would at least get his mind off of lighting up while at Molly's place. Sherlock pulled down his shirt sleeves again to cover the patches and headed out, hailing a cab to Hosier Lane where Molly lived. He felt like he had swallowed a bundle of butterflies as he rang the bell for her flat.

"It's… me, Sherlock Holmes," he spoke awkwardly.

Molly chuckled softly. "Alright then, come on up, Sherlock…"

Sherlock heard her unlock the door and walked up the stairs to her number and was greeted by a blushing Molly Hooper. He looked at her and smiled nervously.

"Hello, Molly…" Sherlock shifted his weight anxiously, wanting his nicotine patches to kick in. "You all right, then?"

She nodded and smiled brightly. "Come inside… the food's still cooking but I figured we could talk for a bit."

Sherlock nodded and walked inside, looking around. The flat looked similar to his own on Baker Street except he observed it was a lot homier, even cozy. He walked into the living room and saw a couple bookshelves that were completely full of books.

"Ah, now there's something familiar! I can read others fairly well but I didn't think you would have so many books…"

Molly poured two half glasses of wine and moved over to where Sherlock was. "A lot of them are just… pathology books but I read recreationally when I can. Wine, Sherlock?"

He turned around and felt his heart rate quicken when he saw the alcohol, remembering the night when he had confessed about his mother to John. He took the cup from her and nodded politely. "Thank you, Molly. So what are we toasting?"

She thought for a few moments. "How about… to good friends?" she offered, hopefully.

He could tell she was trying hard not to get her hopes up about tonight. She was looking happy, embarrassed, and eager all at once. He clinked his cup gently against hers. "To good friends," he agreed, taking a small sip.

They stood in an awkward silence before she finally spoke up. "Sherlock, I-I know this isn't your thing. I know that you aren't used to being good friends with anyone besides John. We don't have to consider this a real date or anything, if you don't want. I-I understand… and… if you'd rather be home, you can leave. It's… really okay," Molly insisted, stumbling over her words, fearfully.

Sherlock was surprised she offered this but he had to be better. He had to at least try to act like a normal human would act with someone else. The thought of going home to an empty house sent his mind spiraling downwards, so that wasn't an option right now. He was almost afraid to admit it, but he didn't want to be alone at Baker Street again. He took another sip of his wine and looked at her.

"Molly, if I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be here," he comforted, making an attempt to calm her fears.

This seemed to relax her a bit and she nodded in understanding. "Let's eat, shall we?"

He moved into the kitchen and placed the spaghetti bolognaise on their plates. Sherlock looked down at his food, feeling almost nauseous as he added up the calories in his head.

_Pasta = 550 calories / serving_

_2 cups = __**755 **_

_Sauce = 75 calories / 1 cup_

_75 x 2 = __**150**_

_755_

_+150  
__

_**865 calories**_

Sherlock took a deep breath before he tried to ignore his mental calculating and his obsessive behavior. He closed his eyes as he felt the panic beginning to rise up again. She set her fork down and looked at him worriedly.

"I-If you don't like it, you don't have to eat it, Sherlock… I know I'm not the best cook or anything – "

Sherlock contemplated lying and saying it to avoid eating but there was something within him that was stopping him from doing so. He shook his head and bit his lip. "No, no, Molly. It's… not that. I'm… I'm sorry. I just need a moment."

He stood up and then glanced over at her. "Your loo?"

She was taken aback but looked over at him. "Umm… down the hall, on your right."

He nodded and walked down the short corridor before finding the bathroom. He walked inside and shut the door before he started to pace. "You can do this. You _need_ to do this. She's going to think you mad if you don't eat it. It's just food. Why is this this such a big deal?"

He stopped and looked at his reflection in the mirror above the sink, despising the person he saw. His breathing increased and he looked at himself in disgust. "You failure… you fat failure… you need to do this!" he hissed at himself in frustration resisting the urge to let out a cry.

He then heard footsteps near the door and he covered himself by clearing his throat and then flushing the toilet. He opened the door and swallowed hard, trying to come up with something to say, but fell short. He could see the upset look on her face though.

"Sherlock, if you don't want to be here, just leave. You know how I feel about you and I don't want you to stay here out of… pity or whatever for me! It's just hurtful… you don't need to hide in the bathroom…" she explained, running her hands through her long hair.

He shook his head. "No, Molly. I don't want to leave… I just, it's not you – "

"'It's not you, it's me?' Are you honestly going to play that line with me?"

Sherlock felt like he was royally screwing this up and he didn't know what to say or do. "What do you want me to do, Molly? I want to do this right… I know you won't believe me but I do."

"If you want to do this right, then stay here with me, Sherlock. I don't want you to leave," she searched his eyes, as if she could see answers in them.

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay, then I'll stay… wait a moment… you weren't eating your dinner either," Sherlock drawled in a curious tone, looking at her with narrowed eyes.

_Self-conscious_

_**Average weight**_

_Overly organized _

_**Heavily used scale in the corner of bathroom**_

_Long sleeves, long skirt_

_**Divorced parents**_

_Ignored by father_

He paused, biting back the words that lingered on his tongue. He couldn't give her away without giving himself away as well. Sherlock sucked in a breath and blinked a couple times, before he shook his head.

She wrung her hands and she looked back at their food in the kitchen. "I-I made it for you… I thought you'd like a nice, home-cooked meal. You… don't eat very much and I figured you could use some meat on your bones…"

_**Anxious**_

_Uncomfortable_

Sherlock swallowed hard. She knew it too. She had to know that he knew her secret too. Maybe if he avoided the subject of food, she wouldn't figure it all out and send this one particular skeleton burst out of the closet before he wanted it to. Then again, it took an anorexic to know one. "L-Let's get our wine and… sit on the couch. I'm not really feeling all that hungry…"

She nodded eagerly and forced a weak smile but he could see there was sadness in Molly's eyes. There also seemed to be relief in them too. "Right… y-yeah, let's do that. I'm not all that hungry either."

Sherlock hurried into the kitchen and grabbed their wine glasses before going back into the living room and handed Molly her wine glass. He sat down beside her on the soft living room couch and took a long drink of his wine.

"So… umm… are you and John not living together anymore then?"

"No, he moved out and is living at the hospital, sleeping in his office, I suspect. We had a row about…" he paused to think quickly. "About me, and it was the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak. It is rather nice not having him nagging me about one thing or the other. Are you seeing anyone?"

She took a drink of her wine and smiled sadly before she shook her head. "Nope, I'm not. Not since Jim… or… Moriarty or whoever he really was." When she saw Sherlock's eyebrows raise in confusion, she then added, "He told me a different name. It's not like I'm real heartbroken about him or anything. No one seems particularly interested in me, I suppose. Can't say I blame them. I know I'm not that pretty or anything."

Sherlock felt the familiar ache in his heart and shook his head. "You're not pretty, Molly. You're beautiful…"

It was the first time he had ever been able to tell another person this and he felt like it had come from a sincere place. It wasn't just the fact that she had the same image disorder as he did; it was the fact that Sherlock Holmes actually saw her beauty, for the first time, _actually_ saw it.

Molly's eyes looked up at him in surprise and she searched his grey ones, trying to mentally decide if he was telling the truth or just trying to humor her. Her cheeks flushed a cherry red color and she just shook her head, obviously not believing it. How could she, though? He couldn't believe that he was slender to an unhealthy degree.

"You're not so bad looking yourself, Sherlock," he bit her lip to stop herself from smiling.

He didn't know what to say so he just forced a weak smile and nodded, finishing off his wine. He sighed contently and looked at her. "How do you think our date's going? Is it up to acceptable standards?"

She chuckled and nodded. "Yes, I believe it is. Would you like some more wine?"

"No, thank you… best not. Feel free to help yourself, Molly. Don't feel self-conscious on account of me," he encouraged casually, genuinely trying not to be intimidating or anything towards her.

She thought for a moment and then set her glass down. "Thank you, Sherlock… for this. For doing this date for me… and not being your usual self-centered self. I was wary about this at first but you've showed me that how you are in front of most people isn't how you actually are in front of others."

Sherlock set his glass down beside hers on the coffee table and sat up straight. "This is the least I could do after all you did for me at the hospital yesterday. I knew I could trust you to do it without fail, and you've more than met my expectations. That was… a very large favor for me. As far as how I act around most people, it's not that I act differently around others. I only act differently… in front of you. You're the first person that has given me a chance to act like myself and I couldn't act this way in front of anyone else. You've been the first person who, as strange as it is, isn't afraid to stand up against me or question me on anything, and that takes courage."

She swallowed hard and her blushing became more prominent. "Well, thank you, Sherlock. I feel like I can be myself around you, regardless of me being… nervous sometimes. How long until you can tell me what was in your coat pockets?"

Sherlock had a feeling it would come down to this. He stood up and looked down. "Actually, I think I will have a bit more wine. Would you like some?"

Molly hesitated at first but then nodded. He grabbed both their glasses and walked out into the kitchen where their untouched plates still laid on the table before he poured half a glass more of wine into each of their goblets and then brought them back into the living room. He handed her hers and then sat down, taking a long drink of his, letting the alcohol burn his throat.

"I'll tell you what was in my pockets, but you mustn't tell anyone else, especially John. Do you understand?" he asked, not unkindly.

She nodded surely now before taking a small sip of her wine. He took a deep breath and then sighed softly before he turned to face her, a part of him afraid of how she might react. "I… stole one prescription bottle of morphine pills and another prescription bottle of amphetamines."

Molly set her glass down now and looked at him with disappointment. "Sherlock, you stole from the hospital? Even you should know better than that! What are doing with morphine pills and amphetamines? You could've had a heart attack yesterday!"

He nodded knowingly and then put his hands together, as if he was praying. "They helped me focus, Molly. Granted, I shouldn't have taken both of them so close together but I was hoping the amphetamines would keep me awake and help me concentrate better. I took two of my morphine pills at home before I arrived at the hospital. Going there had been a last minute decision I hadn't planned on doing at all. I should've stayed at my flat while I was under the influence of them but I didn't, and I realize that had been a very big mistake."

Molly looked angry, confused, and was left rather speechless now. She sighed and sat back on the couch, shaking her head. "I can't believe you did that, Sherlock. I mean, of course I can but I wished you hadn't stole. I honestly would've rather you had asked me for them instead…"

He looked at her skeptically now. "What good would that have done? Then _you_ would have stolen from the hospital! You work there, I'm not bloody well going to get you fired to fuel my addictions…"

"I could've forged them for you! I would've make up some excuse. It's better than you being hauled off to the police station, isn't it?" Molly argued.

Sherlock couldn't stop himself from smirking now. "You would've forged amphetamine and morphine prescriptions for me? Why?"

Molly shrugged her shoulders but gave him a weak smile. "I don't know… I care about your well-being and… at least then I could control the dosage I give you so you don't end up killing yourself or ODing on them."

Sherlock nodded in understanding and his smirk faded before his eyes turned serious. "We have more in common with each other than you think, Molly. I-I think would be really amazing together. We're both intelligent and determined."

She looked at him curiously. "Are you saying we should have another date…?"

He nodded once. "I… do believe that is what I am recommending for us. Would you strongly object to seeing me again?"

Molly chuckled and shook her head. "Oddly, no. I would love to do this again, Sherlock. I think you're right; I think we could be really good together."


	7. Small Steps

Chapter Seven: Small Steps

**.o.o.**

**.o.**

Sherlock woke up the next day with Molly Hooper on his mind, in his thoughts, in his bloodstream. He couldn't shake the previous evening out of his head. It had startled him how he felt towards her but at the same time, it also gave him hope. Hope that maybe he wouldn't ruin this relationship with her like he'd had ruin everything else. He wanted to do this right; he wanted to actually love someone without pointing out their flaws.

He groaned sleepily and rolled onto his side in his bed, letting the warmth of the bed restrain him from getting up to go shower. It frustrated him a bit he couldn't see her eating disorder sooner and it had taken a half hour of being around her in her own house to make a deduction. He had known her for a decent amount of time and the person who should've been the easiest to figure out had been the most difficult for him. He felt like he could relate to her at least now; they both had issues with eating or not eating and now they had a common thread that truly connected them to each other.

Sherlock took a deep breath as he lay in bed and then let it out again, thinking about what he wanted to do today. Before he had proper time to debate about it, he heard the chime coming from his phone that sat on the table next to the bed. He rolled over and then grabbed it before opening the message:

_I do hope you're spending the inheritance funds smartly, Sherlock. I'll know if you aren't. – M_

In other words: 'You better not be spending that money on drugs.' Sherlock chewed on his lower lip in thought before he finally did force himself to get out of bed, getting an idea. He would need to deposit the check into his account today for his idea to be considered a smart one, however. The very thought of having to be around other people made his body ache physically and mentally. He speed-dialed John Watson and then hit the 'speakerphone' key on his phone before he gently tossed it onto the bed.

"Morning, Sherlock…" a tense voice greeted on the other end.

"Good morning, John," Sherlock replied as he started to undress out of his pajamas, grabbing a black pair of pants. "Sleep well?"

"I suppose. How are you doing?" John asked with a slight concern in his voice now.

Sherlock buttoned his pants and then grabbed his phone before he walked into the bathroom and started to run the tap from the sink to shave. "Fantastic. I need a favor from you, John."

There was an impatient sigh from his the other side. "Sherlock, do you have me on speakerphone while you're shaving? I can hear the echo…"

Sherlock lathered his face now and started to shave carefully, once in a while rinsing the razor in the sink. "I'm sorry, John. Did you say you would do me this favor or not? I could barely understand you…"

John cleared his throat but Sherlock could tell he was probably shaking his head in disbelief. "Well, Sherlock. In order to do you the favor, I should know what it is first. What is it you want me to do? If it involves getting you amphetamines or morphine illegal, I won't do it… I'm telling you that right now."

"Don't worry, John. It's nothing like that. I only ask if you could drop by and pick up a check I've inherited and deposit it into my bank account. You're the only one I would trust with such a task," Sherlock confided.

There was a short pause on John's end before he spoke again. "Are you quite positive there is no one else you can ask this of? I have plans today."

Sherlock thought for a minute as he slid the razor down his jawline and rinsed it off. "Mmmm, no you don't. You just have work but not for another two hours, and yes, I am positive there's no one else I could burden this task upon so if you would be so kind as to come to Baker Street to pick it up, I'd really appreciate it, John."

A long heavy sigh. "Fine, but I can't stay long. I'm just picking up the check and leaving."

"Fair enough. I have plans as well today so I'm afraid I won't be able to chat for long either," Sherlock rinsed off his razor again.

"Good, then. It's settled. I'll be there in about ten minutes. Does that work for you?"

"Yes, that works perfectly. I shall see you soon, John…" Before his friend could reply, Sherlock ended the call and finished up shaving before he rinsed and dried his face off with a towel and walked back into the bedroom.

He tucked in his deep purple colored shirt into his pants before he grabbed his long black coat and slipped it on just as his phone chirped loudly once again. Sherlock sighed and looked at the second message from his brother.

_I mean it. Don't go throwing mother's inheritance money out the window. Be smart about it. _

Unable to control himself, he pressed the numbers for brother and listened to the rings before he picked up. "Honestly, Mycroft… I don't need you pestering me about how I choose to spend the inheritance. You can stop nagging me at any point."

He could already see Mycroft's smirk. "Dear brother, I only pester and nag because I care."

"You only care about the money, not about my own well-being! If you truly cared, you wouldn't keep messaging me with warnings," Sherlock scoffed as he fixed his hair and put on shoes and socks.

"Not warnings, Sherlock. They're merely words of wisdom. I would never be able to live with myself if they found your precious dead body in some dirty back alley in London with track marks up and down your arms because you went and spent all your body on that filth to shoot into your veins."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but still felt defensive. "Well, not as if it's any of your business, Mycroft, but I have plans for the money and they don't involve on spending it on drugs. Is there any other things you want to nag me about while I've gone you on the line?"

"I do apologize, but I simply do not have time for your snarky attitude at the moment, dear brother mine so if you'll forgive me I'm just going to hang up now," Mycroft drawled.

Sherlock heard the click of the call being ended and then hung up too, annoyed at his older brother. He straightened himself out and then heard a rapping on his flat door. He walked over to it and opened it before he smiled politely.

"Hello, John. Won't you come in?"

John peeked inside and looked around before he looked back up at Sherlock. "No, that's all right. I'll just take the check to the bank for you."

Sherlock sighed impatiently before his face softened and he looked almost pleadingly at John. "Please… come inside. You have the time." When he saw John's eyes begin to harden, he then added, "Look, John. I know I… don't deserve your time but… you know as well as I do that we need to talk."

The doctor looked apprehensive for a few moments but then reluctantly stepped inside the flat and looked around, unsurprised that not much had changed. He closed the door behind him and then looked expectantly at Sherlock. "So? What did you want to talk about then?"

Sherlock massaged his hands nervously before he searched John's face. "I apologize, for taking those medications and scaring you. I don't want there to be any awkwardness between us, though. I recognize what I did was wrong and I'll do everything in my power to make sure that never happens again."

John's demeanor changed slightly as he shifted his weight, his eyes softening now. "Sherlock, you nearly died. You could've easily had a heart attack. I… I don't want to lose you again."

Sherlock straightened his spine and shook his head. "You've never lost me, John. You never will. I just don't want to lose your friendship. We've been through a hell of a lot and it'd be a shame to throw it all away because of one idiotic incident on my part."

John nodded understandingly but his face was still twisted into a look of frustration and uneasiness. He moved in closer to his friend. "What you did was so stupid, Sherlock… I'm glad you realize that but it wasn't just that incident! It's… it's the fact that…" he trailed off, his tongue afraid to say what his mind was thinking.

Sherlock sighed and felt a pang of hurt. "It's the fact that you don't know how to help me that bothers you," he said surely. "You're frustrated and upset that I can't see what you see and so you know there's no way to comfort me and make me stop what I've been doing, or rather, not doing. I'm trying to get better, John. I am… I've… found someone who makes me want to get better."

"Molly Hooper," John stated instead of questioning.

Sherlock nodded once. "Yes, that's right. I've talked to her and I believe that this could be the start of something wonderful for me," he searched the doctor's eyes. "She's given me a chance and I don't wish to disappoint her."

"Don't break her heart, Sherlock. You know nothing about being in a relationship and you don't know how to go about it… she really, really likes you and admires you and if you break her heart, then she'll never forgive you and quite frankly, I'm not sure if I'll be able to either. Molly Hooper seems to be a very decent woman and human being. After dating Moriarty, I don't know how she'd take a break up with you," John admitted uncomfortably.

Sherlock listened to John and took in his advice. "I know that, John. I realize all of this. I'm not going to break her heart."

John looked at him a bit skeptically. "What's in this for you? Why have you suddenly taken an interest in Molly?"

Sherlock had been afraid of this. It was his turn to clear his throat, feeling uneasy. "There's nothing in my relationship with Molly besides… company, someone to talk to. John, I realize this might be difficult for you to understand because of how I was, or still am, but… I'm feeling things for her that I've never felt about another person in my entire life. I'm seeing things about her I haven't seen before."

John just nodded but Sherlock could still tell he wasn't entirely sure about this whole thing. "Okay, then. All right… but if you hurt our friend, I don't know if you and I will still be friends. Do you understand that?"

There was an edge to his friend's tone that made Sherlock actually feel confident that he meant what he was saying. He nodded and swallowed hard. "Umm… let me just give you that check I have," he spoke almost inaudibly, turning to walk into the kitchen. He grabbed the check from the counter and walked back to John before holding it out to him. "Just tell them that you're my business associate and give them my information. There shouldn't be a problem. I know nearly everyone who works there; I've had to help them out with one case or another."

John took the check and carefully pocketed it before he turned to leave. Sherlock took a step towards him. "Are we okay then? We're… still friends?"

The doctor glanced back at him and gave Sherlock a small smile. "Yes, we're still friends, Sherlock. Good luck with Molly…" He gave him a polite nod goodbye and then left again, closing the door shut behind him.

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief and ran his hands through his hair anxiously before he heard the familiar rumble of his stomach. He closed his eyes in dread, taking a few deep breaths to calm the panic that was already filling up inside of him. There was a part of him that told him he had to eat but of course there was another part of him that was telling him that he didn't need food. He shook the second thought out of his head and walked back into the kitchen before he hesitantly grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl.

Suddenly, he heard his phone chime again. He felt an anger rise up inside of him, about to curse his brother when he saw Molly Hooper's name appear on the screen in the message:

_Would you like to come over for a cuppa? We can talk some more. _

Sherlock looked down at his apple before he quickly typed back:

_Why don't you come over here? I'll put the kettle on. _

Once he got Molly's agreement, he started the kettle and took out two tea mugs before dropping two Tetley teabags in them. He grabbed a small slicing knife and started to cut small pieces off of the apple and then slipped it into his mouth before he chewed slowly, methodically. He let the sour taste dance on his tongue, savoring it before he finally swallowed. He did this a few more times before he heard another rapping on the door.

Sherlock set the apple and his knife down and opened the door to see his female companion smiling at him. He leaned in and then wrapped his arms around Molly, who instantly tensed up out of surprise.

"Oh, hello, Sherlock! How are you, then?" she laughed softly at herself.

Sherlock kissed her cheek but barely met her skin before he leaned away again and took a step back. "I'm good, thanks for asking. Yourself?"

She nodded and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. "Good! I'm very good… so, tea then?"

"Right," Sherlock smiled and motioned for her to come inside before he walked into the kitchen where the kettle had just started to scream and shut the burner off underneath it. He poured the hot water over the bags and watched her sit down at the table. "How do you take it, Molly?"

"Oh, just milk, no sugar."

Sherlock stirred milk into her tea before he did his own and set her cup down in front of her. He took his seat where his apple was and starred at the piece of fruit in mental exhaustion.

"I'm sorry, did I interrupt you?" Molly asked kindly, eyeing his apple.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, no. Don't be ridiculous, Molly. You're fine. You're… perfect. Would you like one perhaps? I'm afraid I need to go to the store again soon so fruit is all I have at the moment."

As he looked at her, waiting for her answer, he could see how hungry and pale she looked. She bit her lip and then shook her head. "N-No, no thanks, Sherlock."

There was a long silence as the two of them sipped their tea and Sherlock slowly ate his apple before he felt the need to speak up. "Erm, Molly… I am not quite sure how to say this to you but… I know what you're going through, and I just want you to know you're not alone."

Molly looked bewildered at first but the sudden change to terror in her eyes confirmed what Sherlock had figured out. She shook her head quickly, as if she didn't want to believe that he really knew what he was talking about. "I-I'm… not going through anything, Sherlock. Really, I'm… fine…"

He wet his lips and looked back down at his apple, feeling oddly weak as he ate in front of her and suddenly felt bigger than he was again. He felt like a pig, gorging while she just drank tea. "Molly, please don't hide from me. If…we're going to do this, be in a relationship together, we should be truthful to each other, shouldn't we?"

Sherlock felt himself bite his tongue after the words slipped out and another word appeared inside his mind.

_Hypocrite._

He really was being one, though, and he knew it. He felt the panic rising up from within again as he waited for her reply. She wrapped her fingers around the cup and forced herself to meet Sherlock's eyes before she nodded slowly.

"I just… there's no way you can be able to relate to this, Sherlock. I mean, you're… _you_ and you're just tall and skinny and perfect so I can't imagine how on earth you'd be able to empathize with me on any level whatsoever," Molly confessed quietly, her words coming out faster than normal.

He knew she hadn't meant for them to come out unkindly but Sherlock couldn't deny the sting he felt from them. He distracted himself by taking a long sip of his tea. "It's curious, isn't it? How we can see the perfect in each other but not in ourselves?"

This made her look up at him with inquiring eyes and he could see her relax ever so slightly. "You're saying that you're… anorexic as well then?" When he nodded, she continued. "I… don't know what to say, I mean… I had no idea. I'm so sorry, Sherlock."

He wanted to wave off her empathy but knew that would've been a bad thing to do during their confessions. Sherlock could see the sincerity in her eyes and felt his heart aching again. "Thank you… but we don't have to be alone in this. We can… help each other, maybe…"

She started to anxiously play with the rings on her fingers now, her eyes casting downwards at the table. "I don't know about that, Sherlock. I know you're trying. I can see that you really want to help me but what if I'm not ready for help? Are you ready to suddenly stop your bad eating habits as well and try to see yourself for what you really are?"

He looked back down at his apple and held it in his hand, rolling it around in thought. "I'm not sure. Perhaps, if you were to join me. We can… I don't know. Maybe we can help each other to eat and we can talk. We don't have to be alone in this battle anymore, Molly."

She nodded in understanding but she was still looking a bit unnerved. He sliced off a small piece of apple before he leaned across the table and placed it in front of her slowly, watching her reaction. As he had expected, it looked like the same reaction he felt he had whenever he saw food: panic.

"Molly, you can do this. We can do this… let's share this apple together. I know it seems like a lot but… maybe we can do this," he encouraged softly, never taking her eyes off of her.

Molly looked back up at him now hesitantly, fear in her eyes. "I… have only been eating maybe a couple biscuits a day and drinking tea and wine and… the idea of sharing a whole apple seems ridiculous, Sherlock."

He heard the tremble in her voice and it only encouraged him more to help her. He cut off a slightly bigger piece of his own apple and held it between his fingers. "Eat yours and I'll eat this one. I'll just… give you the smaller pieces and you can work your way up to the bigger ones."

"What about you? Those are big pieces you're already eating… y-you shouldn't have to keep eating that size if it makes you feel uneasy too," she remarked.

Sherlock nodded. "I'll do the opposite. I'll start out big and then work my way to smaller pieces. How does that sound?"

Molly thought about the idea for a few minutes before she finally nodded. "Yeah, all right. T-That sounds good…"

Sherlock felt relief at her agreement to the suggestion and waited until he saw her take a bite of her small apple piece. She chewed and swallowed in the same methodic manner he had earlier before she finished off her piece. He cut himself off a bigger chunk than he had given her and did the same; chewing it and swallowing.

He felt each bite land in his stomach like he had just swallowed a rock. Once she had finished off her fourth small piece, he smiled softly. "Good job, Molly. You're doing really well."

She blushed slightly but smiled back at him. "Thanks… you are too, Sherlock." She reached across the table now and held her hand out to him.

Sherlock looked down at her hand, his first thought being what she expected him to do. Did she want the rest of the apple? Did she want the knife? He knew nothing of human emotions to know how normal couples acted in a relationship but his gut was telling him to hold her hand.

He carefully set the knife down before the apple and reached out slowly before he placed his large, rough hand in hers, their palms seemingly kissing. Sherlock felt the slight warm that was being held in her own hand against his cold one and felt something swell up inside of him. His reaction appeared to please her greatly, causing her to smile a bit bigger.

"Y-You'll have to forgive me, Molly. I'm new to this…"

"I know you are, Sherlock. It's okay. You're doing very well so far," she gently squeezed his hand before lacing their fingers together.

Their fingers fit perfectly in the space between the others' and it just felt so right to him. Sherlock relaxed and then searched her face. "I know that I must seem like a giant hypocrite, trying to get you to eat when I'm in the same boat but… I'm doing this because… because…" he trailed off now, wanting the words to come out right.

"Because you care, about me. You want me to be healthy," she finished for him. "I understand. You're not a hypocrite, though. You're eating with me, and t-that's good because I want you to be healthy too."

Sherlock gently ran his thumb over the top of her hand. "That's right, Molly. I know it'll be hard but I think we can try to get to a point where we feel okay about eating. We can't do this by ourselves, I know that now, but I think if we have each other to keep the other person in check, then it might work."

She nodded but her smile faded slightly now. "What if… there are days when neither of us want to eat anything? Who will keep us in check?"

Sherlock's own smile faded now as well but he tried to keep his eyes from losing their hope and light, for her sake. "There probably will be days like that, but… I have a feeling that John will keep us in line."

Panic filled her eyes again. "John? Did you tell him about… me? Does he know about your eating disorder?"

Sherlock unhooked his hand casually from hers and took a sip of his tea. "He knows about mine but I haven't told him about yours. That's your secret and I believe that it's your own business who you tell about it," he answered earnestly.

This made the panic filter out again and she nodded gratefully at him. "Thank you. I-I wasn't even going to tell you about it at all, Sherlock."

"Yes, that thought had crossed my mind. I apologize for calling you out on it, Molly. I know you probably didn't want me to ever know about it but I felt like… I needed you. I felt like if I didn't have to suffer alone then it wouldn't be so bad," Sherlock replied.

He knew his words hadn't come out the way he had wanted them too but she seemed to understand what Sherlock was trying to say. "Do you ever regret your talents, Sherlock? Do you ever regret being able to see things about people normal people can't?"

He let the questions bounce around momentarily before he finally answered. "When it doesn't involve a case, then yes. I do regret my talents and gifts when it comes to reading others. I'm afraid as cliché as it sounds, it's both a burden and a curse."

The two of them sipped their tea in a comfortable silence again and once they had finished it, Molly looked from Sherlock to the apple again. "Do you… want to give it another go? It doesn't seem like we have much left," she observed.

He looked down at the apple that was half eaten and picked up the knife again. "Right, sure. You're right; we don't have much left. We might as well finish it up." Sherlock started to cut into the apple. "Are you okay with this, eating again?"

Molly bit her lip but nodded. "Only if you're going to help me with it as well. I think we can do it."

Sherlock felt hope fill him up again and smiled softly. He cut off a slightly bigger piece and handed it to her on the knife. "I think we can do it too, Molly Hooper."


	8. Compromises

A/N: I know a lot of you followers aren't reviewing but I just want to take the time to say thank you for following my story. I wasn't expecting anyone to really read it at all because of it being ED related but thank you.

_**TRIGGER WARNINGS CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED**_

Also, I understand I have some folks from the UK reading this story but as I am from the US, I've converted kilograms to pounds instead of writing kilos, so please forgive me and I apologize if this puts anyone out. It's just easier for me to write the pounds.

**And for all intents and purposes of my story, I am saying that Sherlock is about 6'3" and Molly is about 5'7" (**even if she isn't, please excuse me).

* * *

Chapter Eight: Compromises

**.o.o.**

**.o.**

Once the two companions had finished the apple down to the core, they both looked at each other anxiously, both their hearts beating erratically with panic. Sherlock tried to mentally assure himself it wasn't rational to believe that he was going to put on weight from eating half an apple but that was the kicker; this disorder wasn't rational at all.

He swallowed hard as he drummed his fingers nervously on the table and he cleared his throat before he looked at Molly. "Good, then. We… finished it together. H-How are you feeling?"

She chewed on her lip and for a moment, he genuinely thought she might start crying. "I-I don't know… l-like a pig, quite frankly. How are you feeling about it?"

He saw her search his eyes and he didn't know why but he felt like he needed to be strong for her, despite the insane amount of massive terror that was building up inside of him and turning his blood to ice. "We're going to be okay, Molly. W-We won't gain anything from eating an apple, which we shared nonetheless. It's irrational to believe that we would gain anything. All right?"

She looked at him and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself now as she nodded hesitantly. "R-Right… umm… so then what do you want to do now?"

He felt at a loss for words. This was all new to him, an actual relationship. Sherlock almost forgot that he was even in one at all; his thoughts had been so concentrated on food and calories for the hour and a half that it took both of them to finish the apple. He shook his head to try and focus back on who he was with and the emotions he had had for her before.

"Err… I… I apologize, Molly but I honestly have no idea how… how these things work," Sherlock stammered awkwardly before he gave a weak nervous smile.

She chuckled lightly and nodded in understanding before she stood up and held out her hand to him. He saw the apprehension written on her face but he took her hand and let her lead him to the couch. Sherlock watched as she sat down in the middle of the couch, facing one of the armrests. He looked around her curiously, unsure what she was doing.

"I-I… uhhh… where should I be, then?"

Her smile brightened, making her eyes light up at his innocence. "Sit down against one of the armrests with your back to it, your legs up on the cushions like me," she instructed.

Sherlock gracefully climbed on the couch like a spider and weaved himself in the position she described, deciding their bodies might fit if he had either leg around hers so she was laying in the middle, against his back. Not knowing how else to do it, he thought of their bodies like puzzle pieces and thought about how they could fit correctly, comfortably. She seemed satisfied, resting her back gently against his chest.

"That's great, Sherlock," she commended. "Now place your arms around my shoulders and cup your arms with your hands."

He did as he was told, surprised at how comfortable this position was for both of them, but still felt tense. Sherlock really was a novice at this sort of thing but felt grateful that Molly wasn't calling him a freak or teasing him for being so unsure about something for once in his life. Even John would've teased him about figuring out how to lay with someone, but this felt right, being with Molly Hooper.

As she relaxed again, she placed her hands on his wrists and when he looked at her, Sherlock could see her eyes were closed. This was… nice. He too closed his eyes and he started to do what was coming naturally to him; he started to gently caress her shoulders above the fabric.

"It's okay to let yourself feel sometimes, Sherlock," she whispered. "Feeling like this isn't so terrible."

He silently exhaled, looking at the soft skin on the nape of her neck. "It might be though, Molly. These emotions… I'm not used to feeling them and they prove to be useless in times of importance. Error occurs when human emotions are present in a situation. They lead to other errors."

Molly tensed up slightly again now and she opened her eyes before she looked up at him. "Emotions are what make people human, and not mechanical. I know you're used to just thinking about the facts and not letting your emotions get the best of you in situations but you need emotions to have a relationship. It doesn't work if you're robotic, only focusing on yourself and not the other person."

Sherlock raised a confused eyebrow now and searched her face for answers he didn't have. "What about self-preservation? Isn't that important? How is a person supposed to stop themselves from being hurt emotionally by the other person if they put themselves out there? The other person has power to break them…"

Molly continued to caress the skin on his arms with her thumbs, if only to comfort herself. "Exactly. You have to risk being emotionally hurt by the other person in any relationship, Sherlock. That's why trust is so important. You trust that other person not to break you." After a few lingering minutes of silence, she spoke again but this time looked across the room towards the kitchen. "Are you sure you want this, me?"

Sherlock let himself feel her body pressed up against his own and felt her soft fingers gently stroking his skin. "Yes, it is, Molly. Forgive me for all my questions. I just… I'm not used to feeling this way but I'm positive that I don't want to be alone anymore and you're the only person I feel like I could ever trust."

Molly bit her lip, not having necessarily gotten the answer she had wanted, but knew that it was going to take time for him. "Do you still care about my well-being? Do you think you could love me? I-I mean, I understand if we're taking this too fast for you and of course you don't have to answer me right now – "

Sherlock gently placed an index finger on her lips to quiet her before he smirked. "Yes, Molly."

She searched his eyes now. "Yes to… which question?"

He let his smirk fall and his face became neutral. "Both."

She blushed slightly and couldn't stop the grin that had spread across her face. Molly nodded now in understanding and gently kissed his arm, letting her lips linger on his skin. He felt his stomach flutter with an unfamiliar feeling as she did this but didn't try to stop her.

They lay together like this for about an hour before she turned around and saw his own eyes closed. She bit her lip, biting back her question when she saw his chest moving up and down in a steady rhythm and saw he had fallen asleep. She smiled to herself, admiring him for a while before she carefully untwined her limbs from his and stood up. She looked around and grabbed the blanket on the armchair and covered him up with it before she kissed his forehead and grabbed a book from the bookshelf and walked into his bedroom to read.

When Sherlock woke up, he instinctively glanced at the clock.

_6:30pm._

He had been asleep for at least three and a half hours. He looked around but didn't see Molly. Sherlock pushed the blanket off of him and started to walk around the flat, ending up at his bedroom. He saw the door had been pushed open and slowly walked inside to see Molly was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down.

Sherlock watched her curiously. "Why didn't you sit in the living room? You could've read in there while I slept."

Molly bit her lip and the closer he got to her, he noticed she had been crying. Sherlock looked down to see what she was looking at and felt his stomach tighten.

The scale. In one swift moment, Sherlock understood absolutely.

He swallowed hard as his curiosity grew. "How much?"

Molly sniffled and wiped a stray away with her fingers. "O-One hundred fifty-five," she hesitated, her voice getting caught in her throat. More tears started to make trails down her face. "I'm such a failure…"

Sherlock sat down beside her and placed his hands on his legs before he gently placed his hand on her back. "That may seem high but… that's actually considered a healthy weight for someone your height."

She shook her head and then tried to dry her eyes on her shirt sleeve. "I-It's too high… it's just too high, Sherlock. I… I feel so heavy. I just want to get this weight off of me. I can't s-stay like this. I-I shouldn't have eaten the apple. It did make me weigh more, even if it was only ounces. T-Those still count and I hate myself… I'm so disgusting…"

Sherlock saw her begin to cry all over and he gave into his instincts now; he placed his arms around her and gently pulled her in close to his chest. She didn't back away but wrapped her own arms around him and buried her face into his shoulder. He felt her shoulders tremble as she cried and felt something he didn't know he could actually feel: empathy. He felt sorry that she felt that way about herself. He felt sorry that she felt hideous and was crawling out of her own skin.

He embraced her tighter and planted a soft kiss on her hair. "You're not disgusting to me, Molly… not at all. You don't look heavy."

She continued to cry but it was somehow softer than from when she initially started. "B-But I'm n-not skinny… I'm not t-thin…"

Sherlock gently caressed his hand on her back soothingly. "You're healthy, Molly. You're in the healthy range… I'm not thin either."

She sniffled again and hiccupped before she pulled herself away from his shirt and looked up at him with shocked eyes, shaking her head. "Y-You are though, Sherlock… you're so thin. You're p-probably in the danger zone for s-someone your height…"

When he looked back at her, he could see concern laced in her eyes. He cleared his throat uneasily before he started to run his fingers through her hair. "It's funny how we can see the beauty in each other and not in ourselves," he whispered. He remembered himself saying almost the same words as he had before to her but he didn't care; he knew it was how he truly felt.

She nodded in agreement and gave him a small smile before she wiped away more tears. "It's… it's going to be all right."

She took a deep breath and looked up at him. "Is it?'

He thought for a minute before he nodded once. "Yes, of course. It has to be. We'll get through this, Molly."

She bit her lip and sniffled again but just nodded again, not trusting her voice. They were quiet for a while, both of them staring at the scale with the same disordered thoughts rambling around inside their hands. Molly leaned back against his chest and closed her eyes, wanting this moment to last forever with him. She knew how he was so what made her believe he wasn't the same man he used to be?

"C-Can I see?" she whispered suddenly.

Sherlock glanced down at her. "See… what?"

"The pills you stole. You only told me about them. You haven't showed me. I just want to take a look at them."

He moved away from her now and ran a hand through his hair. "Why? Why do you want to see them? I told you I stole them. Isn't that enough?"

Molly was taken aback by his defensiveness and looked at him with hurt in her eyes. "I just… want to see them, Sherlock. Why… are you upset at me?"

Sherlock stood up and sighed heavily. "What about trust? Aren't we supposed to trust each other? Isn't that what you were going on about earlier?"

She looked at him in disbelief and looked down at her hands. "I-I'm trusting you not to overdose. You need to trust me now, Sherlock. Please… just let me see them."

He looked at her with irritation before he stormed over to where his coat was in his closet and grabbed both orange bottles. "There. See them now? Are you happy?"

"I wouldn't know. I can't see the dosage," Molly remarked, becoming upset herself now.

Sherlock held the bottles tightly in his hand but only because he was terrified of her seeing them. If she saw the dosage, she might not give them back to him. He didn't want to risk it. These bottles were the only things helping to keep his sanity. He started to pace now, shaking his head as his thoughts went off in different directions.

"No… no. You don't need to see them, Molly. I do trust you but you're not seeing them. I-I need these!" Sherlock roared at her, feeling his chest becoming tight with panic and felt the same feeling he had felt yesterday and the day before that.

Molly watched him pace around the room and knew something was wrong. She saw the look in his face and his body become tense and panicky. Her eyebrows knitted in worry. "Sherlock, this isn't trusting me! You're working yourself up… please, just sit down. We can talk about this…"

Sherlock continued to shake his head, his knuckles turning white around the bottles. "T-There's nothing to talk about, Molly! These help me… these get me through. Y-You don't understand. You can't understand!"

His breathing started to become ragged and he felt involuntary tears fill his eyes as he suddenly felt like his lungs had been punctured. Sherlock couldn't breathe and it felt like he was having a heart attack. He looked at her as his hands trembled violently. "C-Call an ambulance… I-I… I think I'm h-having an attack o-of some sort…"

Molly rushed over to him and heard the rattling of the pills in the bottle as his hands shook. She placed her hands on his face as tears fell from his eyes now. "Listen to me, Sherlock. You're having another panic attack. You're scared that I'm going to take your pills away. You need to focus on your breathing right now, okay?" When he nodded, she continued to try and console him. "Take a deep breath in through your nose, and then slowly breathe out through your mouth."

She demonstrated for him and then Sherlock followed suit. His legs felt heavy as lead but at the same time, he felt like they might give out from underneath him. He looked into her eyes, trying to concentrate on that as he continued to try and breathe. "D-Don't… please d-don't take them a-away," he stammered, his breathing becoming ragged again as he pleaded. "I-I need t-them. I need t-them…"

She shook her head. "No, shhh… don't think about that right now, all right? Just focus on breathing. Come here. Come lay on the bed." Molly didn't wait for him to protest. She took his hand and gently helped him onto the bed, making him lay down on his side. As she lay behind him, she could feel his body shaking more and knew he was crying quietly.

"This will pass, Sherlock. Just keep breathing. I'm right here… you're not alone. Come on, Sherlock. You need to breathe or you're going to pass out."

He closed his eyes and took small inhales through his nose before letting them pass through his mouth. He did this several more times until he felt like he could breathe normally again. He had no idea how long this had taken but he knew it had to have been at least half an hour. Sherlock felt Molly's arms around his shoulders like his had been around hers earlier.

She gently caressed his reddened hand with her fingers before she carefully unfolded his fingers from around the bottles. Molly gently took both of them out of his hand and placed them on the bedside table but didn't look at them yet. She gently started to run her fingers through his dark curls, gently caressing them. He let her do this, feeling the calm replacing his fear and panic, feeling her warmth. The fear was still there but he had to push it back. He knew he couldn't let it take over.

She held him like this for about an hour before she kissed his jaw softly. He turned over and looked at her with puffy red eyes. "I'm sorry, for screaming at you. You… you didn't deserve that."

She gave him a weak smile even though she was still hurting inside. "I understand. You were scared. I'm just going to look at the bottles, okay?"

Sherlock nodded and let her reach across him to grab both the bottles before she lay back down and checked the labels. He saw her eyes widen a bit and then heard her sigh disapprovingly. "I'm not… going to overdose on them."

"You almost did that day at the hospital, though. They pumped your stomach just to get it out. You could've had a heart attack, mixing them like that… and with the caffeine in the coffee? You're lucky your heart didn't give out," she frowned. "I don't like you taking them, Sherlock."

He resisted the overwhelming temptation to roll his eyes and dug his palms into his eyes instead before looking back at her. "I'm well aware you don't approve of me taking them but they help me focus."

"You don't have a case though. You don't need to focus. Anyway, it seems like they just make your eating disorder ramp up."

He looked away from her. "They help me focus on not eating."

Molly wasn't going to be fooled by him, not anymore. She wasn't the same person she used to be either. "They make you high. They make you pass out and have heart palpitations. You just take them to feel in control of something because you don't feel in control of your weight, even though you're as thin as a rail."

Sherlock hadn't been expecting that answer. He turned over to face her and propped his head up using his arm, looking down at her as she lay on her back. "They do help me feel in control of something," he agreed. "Once again, your view of me is subjective so I don't see me as you see me. I feel like I'm enormous and I feel like everyone is bloody lying to my face when they tell me I'm not as big as I think I am. I'm almost positive you feel the same way. I know you don't approve, but I need something to help me relax. I need something to get my fix and cure my boredom when I don't have cases."

She licked her lips and swallowed hard. "Does it have to be drugs? Why these pills? Can't it be something else? These pills scare me, Sherlock. After seeing you on the ground in the pathology lab, I don't like the idea of you continuing to take these."

Sherlock glanced from the orange bottles back to her. "Let's compromise. I'll limit myself to two morphine pills a day and five amphetamines a week."

She looked at him reprovingly again. "That's not a compromise! That's not any better… try again."

"You don't want to know what it used to be. Hmm… what about… two morphine a day and three amphetamines a week, with daily nicotine breaks," Sherlock tried to bargain.

She sighed and shook her head. "No. The nicotine doesn't bother me as much as the pills, Sherlock. One morphine a day, two amphetamines a week, with nicotine in between."

He felt like he had swallowed a bunch of rocks. He was an addict to the pills and cutting it down that much was sure to put him through horrible withdrawals. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, but tried to do it playfully. "What about… one morphine a day, and three amphetamines every other day."

Molly sat up now, not liking this negotiation. She ran her fingers through her long hair. "Sherlock… you know you can't do that. We need to figure something out. You have a problem; I know you're addicted and I've known for quite a long time. I would recommend you detox at the hospital but I know I can't make you do that. I'm not an idiot, I know you there's no way you'll listen to me. You're going to have to cut back on the pills though."

"Molly, I don't know about – "

"We'll do it gradually," she cut across him. "I'm going to help you. It'll be difficult at first but we'll get through it, and you won't have to endure the hospital. You need to be willing to work with me though."

Sherlock thought about this. Cutting back didn't mean quitting them totally. It just meant decreasing the amount he had, and he could still smoke. Maybe this could work. "So… how do you suggest we go about this then?"

Molly lay back down and then turned onto her side so they were both facing each other, a small smile on her face again. "How much do you usually take?"

He thought for a moment. For once, he actually wanted to be honest about this. "It usually depends on how I'm feeling but I usually take three morphine a day and two amphetamines every day, with of course daily nicotine breaks."

"Okay, well… what about if we have you do three morphine in the evening and the amphetamines during the day? Would that work?"

He looked skeptical. "Mmm… I don't think so, Molly. Usually the daytime is when it's most intolerable for me and taking the morphine let me sleep during it. I'd take the amphetamines to counter it if I was suddenly called away from the flat for something."

Molly leaned in and gently kissed his lips before she looked up at him. "We need to work together. That's too many pills for my liking. What about, two amphetamines during the morning and afternoon, and one morphine at night?"

"Two and three," Sherlock attempted to bargain. Two amphetamines in the morning and three morphine at night might work.

Molly could see that this was going to be a much greater task than she had initially imagined. "No, what about… one-two-one. One morphine in the morning, if you really must, two amphetamines during the day, and then another morphine at in the evening? That's still a lot to my liking but we'll be cutting it down anyway."

Sherlock thought about this. That was two morphine and two amphetamines a day. That was only one less than he would normally take. Having grown tired of arguing about his daily pill dosage with Molly, he sighed. "All right. Fine, then. I suppose that'll have to do."

"Kiss to seal the deal?" she asked cheekily, looking up at him hopefully.

He chuckled softly before he leaned in and kissed her lips, letting his lips linger on hers for several moments. When they pulled away, he reached up and gently placed his hand on her cheek before he caressed the skin with his fingers, surprised at how soft it felt. Sherlock watched as she closed her eyes and smiled in contentment, and then, unable to stop himself from doing so, he leaned in again and kissed Molly one more time.


	9. Fix You

Chapter Nine: Fix You

**.o.o.**

**.o.**

Sherlock sensed someone reading over his shoulder as he typed away on his laptop, trying to solve a case long-distance. He anxiously chewed on his fingernail before he glanced behind him quickly and looked up, unsurprised to see Molly.

"Oh, hello. Is there something wrong?"

She nodded and then sighed tiredly. "You tell me. It's nearly four in the morning and you're still awake. Have you even slept at all, Sherlock?"

He looked back at the screen and when he saw the notification telling him that his client was still typing, the detective looked at the clock and then back at Molly. "Erm… no. I have not. I can't sleep, I'm sorry, Molly."

She didn't look satisfied in the least with his answer and her eyes even filled with concern. She ran her fingers through his curls affectionately before she bit her lip. "Y-You could take one of your morphine pills, if you want," she offered before quickly adding, "to help you sleep."

He looked almost skeptically at her at first before his eyes clouded over distractedly, glancing back at the laptop screen. "Uhh, I actually can't sleep right now. I need to solve this case first, but I appreciate the offer nonetheless."

Molly suddenly blushed and she shook her head, feeling foolish. "Oh, you meant that you don't want to sleep until you finish the case. I… right. I thought you meant that you literally couldn't sleep. Do you want me to bring you some tea or something?"

He typed his reply to his client furiously on the keyboard before he turned to look at Molly, realizing she had asked him something. "Oh, if you like. Coffee would be better, if it's not too much trouble…"

"Sure, okay…" Molly nodded and gently squeezed Sherlock's tense shoulders before she walked into the kitchen, making a full pot of coffee. If he was going to stay up, then she wanted to as well; there was no point in going back to bed since she'd have to wake up for work in about an hour and a half anyway.

The only sounds heard in the flat were the sounds of Sherlock clicking away as he typed and the gurgling sounds of the coffee being made. Molly sighed inwardly as she watched the skeletal man she loved sitting in front of his screen, worried at his appearance. It hadn't mattered that he ate. The problem was that he wasn't eating enough and she knew the detective had to be feeling dizzy and lightheaded from lack of nutrition. She couldn't say something though without sounding like the biggest hypocrite herself; the last thing she had eaten was the apple with him yesterday for lunch.

"This is either a ridiculous case or a brilliant one, Molly! No witnesses to this woman's stolen possession and she insists she didn't steal the ring either…" Sherlock exclaimed, sounding like it was Christmas for him and he was a young boy about to open up a present.

She smiled weakly in his direction, happy for her boyfriend. "That's wonderful, Sherlock." Molly poured them both coffee and stirred in the creamer and sugar before setting the cup in front of him, sitting on a seat nearby.

After several minutes of sipping her own coffee, she cleared her throat. "I-I've been thinking… I think maybe you should talk to John…"

Sherlock looked over at her with curious eyes. "John? Whatever for?"

She glanced down at her coffee mug, not feeling brave enough to look him in the eyes. "H-Have you looked at yourself lately, Sherlock? I know you believe that you're fat and all this nonsense but you're actually… unhealthy and… too thin."

Sherlock made a scoffing sound before he started to laugh but instantly stopped when he saw her stoic face. "Y-You're serious? Umm… I'm sorry, Molly. I didn't mean to laugh at you but you know how this mental illness works. You know that I can't see it. How do you expect me to get help from John if I still believe that I'm obese?"

Molly chewed on her lower lip when she saw he was becoming frustrated. She set her coffee down on the desk and stood up. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I shouldn't have said anything. It was a mistake."

He typed something to his client and then stood up, walking closer to Molly. "No, Molly. Tell me! What if I told _you_ to get help for yours? How would you feel?"

She immediately regretted bringing this conversation up to him, mentally cursing herself. "That's different though! It's obvious that I'm not properly skinny enough to have an eating disorder! No one's going to believe me. They'll laugh in my face… I can see your bones through your shirt! It's obvious that you're not eating right. I'm just concerned for you!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and made another scoffing noise. "Molly, really… you don't need to be concerned for me. Besides, you're not exactly obese yourself! You're average weight for a woman your height! I've read John's medical books…"

"That doesn't make you all knowledgeable about the medical field! I work at the hospital and I've read more medical books than you have, Sherlock! I know a sick person when I see one!" Molly cried out, unable to hide her own frustrations.

Sherlock searched her face and then shook his head as he did when he was forced to talk to people below his intelligence level. He sighed heavily as he narrowed his eyes. "That's funny, Molly Hooper! You're the pot calling the kettle black! You may have read many medical books but that doesn't make you intelligent! You're still ignorant and if the biggest hypocrite I've ever had the displeasure of knowing!" he yelled before he could stop the words form rolling off his tongue.

She raised her eyebrows now in disbelief that Sherlock would say these things to her. Molly might have believed he would before they got together but it hurt to know that he still would even when they became a couple.

She swallowed hard and felt tears rise in her eyes. "Y-You really say the most hurtful things, Sherlock… I-I can't believe you! Do you even know who you're talking to right now?" she chuckled without any humor in her face, but more in disbelief.

Sherlock looked like he didn't know what to say. The damage had already been done and it felt too late to turn back now. He searched her eyes and felt his stomach knot when he saw the tears in her eyes. "Molly – "

She shook her head now and looked at him angrily, even when the tears had fallen down her cheeks. "No! Don't say another word, Sherlock. It won't do you any good." Molly turned on her heels and then grabbed her purse she had come here with the previous day, feeling partly grateful she hadn't moved all her belongings in with him yet.

Sherlock growled and looked at his laptop screen before he forced himself to follow Molly into his bedroom. He swallowed hard, clenching his jaw. "What do you want me to say?"

She stood back up and looked at him, her eyes red and her face blotchy from crying. She sniffled and shook her head. "Nothing. Everything. Tell me you didn't mean what you said to me. Tell me you said it out of anger or frustration towards me. Tell me that you really don't believe those words you said to me."

He saw the pleading look in her reddened eyes but he felt the overwhelming urge to be honest. Sherlock shrugged. "I can't. I can't tell you I didn't mean what I said. You _are_ a hypocrite. I may have an eating disorder but I've come to terms with it, unlike you. I don't deny that I have one."

Molly's eyes widened and she tongued her cheek before she walked around him towards the main door. He didn't know what was compelling him but he followed her again and right when she grabbed the knob with her hand, Sherlock grabbed her left wrist and held it tightly in his own.

She looked back at him. "Let go of me, Sherlock."

He felt panic filling his chest and now he knew what was compelling him. Fear, fear of her leaving him just like his mother had left him and both of these things were his own doing. "Please, don't leave, Molly. Don't…"

"Then apologize. Apologize, and tell me you didn't mean those horrible things."

He closed his eyes in defeat and slowly, reluctantly, let her wrist go and dropped his hand back to his side. She waited a few more moments but when she didn't get her apology, she sucked in a deep breath and then disappeared out the flat without a goodbye.

He stood there, almost in shock. He did this, he deserved all of this. Sherlock knew that he hadn't given her the right answer but his own pride was the cause of his loneliness. He slammed the door shut in anger and then closed his laptop on his own client, ending the conversation and thus, ending the case he had been so excited to have just minutes earlier.

He paced the flat, frantically thinking what would solve his problems right now and then remembered the pill bottles that were on his bedside table. He hurriedly walked back to his room and grabbed his morphine pills before he dumped three of them into his hand. Sherlock walked into the bathroom and swallowed the pills with tap water, not wanting to mix the caffeine from the coffee with them. Not ten minutes after taking them, he could feel the effects of them start to set in.

The detective half staggered into the living room and fell down on his knees in between the couch and coffee table, catching himself carefully. He could feel his heartbeat slow and his surroundings begin to blur as his body start to be overcome with tiredness. He wanted Molly back. He didn't know if he felt ready to apologize to her but he just wanted to feel her soft skin again, press his lips to hers and let the rest of the world fall away at the wayside. Sherlock realized how he felt safe when she was around and now that she was gone, he felt scared and alone. He wanted to hear a voice again. He wanted to hear someone's voice.

Sherlock knew it was useless to call her. She wouldn't pick up so what was the use of wasting the time he would be awake waiting for an answer that wouldn't come? He dialed John's number and listened to the ringing tone until finally he heard his friend's voice.

"Sherlock? I'm busy. What do you want?"

He sounded angry, but it didn't matter. It was still a voice that he was familiar with; a voice that made him feel safe. "John… please don't leave. Don't leave me here by myself…" His own voice sounded so far away.

John sighed heavily into the phone. "Sherlock, it's too late. I've already left. I'm sorry but you've had your chance."

Sherlock groaned tiredly and rubbed his eyes, fighting to stay awake and focused. "John… please. Don't be mad at me… I'm sorry. I… I miss you. You're my only good friend… I wouldn't be able to stand it if you were mad at me still…" he felt himself slurring.

Another exasperated sigh. "Sherlock, I'm not angry at you. I'm just frustrated. I only wish you could see what I see. I'm only worried about you and it's… maddening that you can't see the damage you're doing to yourself, mate. What about Molly? Isn't she with you now? What happened to her?"

The questions only made Sherlock feel the panic in his chest increase. He was feeling the same way he had felt the last time John had been with him. He was starting to have another panic attack. No, not now. Not when the morphine had already brought promise of relief to his pain. He could feel himself sinking all over again.

"She… M-Molly left. She's g-gone…"

A pause, and then John's voice turned concerned. "Sherlock, are you all right? You sound out of breath."

"I-I'm having another damn panic attack, John! T-That might be… why I sound out o-of breath!" Sherlock yelled in frustration.

"Oh, oh Christ… why… why didn't you just tell me that? I'm coming over right now. Just take deep breaths, Sherlock. Stay on the phone with me, all right?"

The detective did the breathing exercise John had taught him for panic attacks. Why had he even called John? Now he was going to see that he was also high as well as having a panic attack. "N-No…please. You don't… you don't need to come over. I-I'll be fine in a while…"

"Stop being stubborn, Sherlock! I'm coming over. It was probably Molly leaving that set you off again. Breathe through your nose, out through your mouth, mate. Slowly," John instructed calmly as he made his way towards 221B by cab.

"I-I'm… I'm doing that, John," Sherlock retorted, despising himself to his core. How could he had been so idiotic to get high and then make the decision to call the one person who left because of his self-destructive habits in the first place?

He continued to take breaths but still felt the anxiety in his chest; he could chalk that up to the morphine at least. It felt like ages before he saw the front door open and saw John hurrying towards him, kneeling down in front of Sherlock.

John put the stethoscope on Sherlock's back and grabbed his friend's wrist to count his pulse. After a few silent moments, he looked disappointedly at Sherlock before he dropped his wrist. "Your heart rate is slow… but you're having a panic attack. Did you take anything?"

Sherlock sighed as he tried to focus on his breathing but at the same time, he just wanted to sleep. He forced his eyes back open to keep himself awake. "Perhaps…"

John put the stethoscope away now and looked at Sherlock. "You're high, again. _That's _why your heart rate is slow. You took morphine again. Damn it, Sherlock… okay, okay. We're not going to do this right now. You need to just focus on your breathing."

Sherlock nodded and as he inhaled through his nose, he searched John's face, seeing the displeasure in his eyes. John couldn't understand why he had done this so it was natural for him to be upset. Once he had gained control of his breathing again, he leaned back against the couch, feeling physically and mentally drained.

"Why did you come? You left because you didn't want anything to do with me anymore. You were frustrated at my eating habits," Sherlock stated.

John brought over a glass of water and handed it to him before he took in Sherlock's appearance for the first time since he arrived. "Jesus, Sherlock. You're not taking care of yourself," he replied, ignoring the detective's question. "When was the last time you ate?"

There was a part of Sherlock Holmes that told him to lie, but there was a stronger part that was telling him to tell John the truth, because he deserved that at the very least. "Yesterday afternoon. Molly and I shared an apple together."

"An apple yesterday afternoon? You haven't eaten anything since then? It's almost six a.m. now, and I know you haven't eaten anything besides the apple in the days before that. All right. I-I'm sorry, Sherlock but… I need to do this. It's gotten too out of hand," John spoke before he reached for his phone.

Sherlock felt his heart begin to quicken again with panic but he couldn't find the energy to fight him for the phone. "No… John! Please do not do that. Don't call an ambulance to take me to hospital. I can't be in there. I'll go mad."

John didn't stop dialing the number but he looked at Sherlock. "Oh? And you're not mad already? This is for your own good, Sherlock. If you keep doing these things to yourself, you're going to die, and I will not let that happen. I refuse to," he declared. "Yes, can I please have an ambulance sent to 221B Baker Street? I'm afraid my friend has overdosed and might need to have his stomach pumped."

Sherlock weakly reached out for the phone, shaking his head. "No… John…"

"The name?"

He clenched his jaw in dread. "Don't do this, John."

"Sherlock Holmes."

**.o.o.**

**.o.**

Sherlock figured he must have given in to the morphine because when he woke up again, he was in the hospital, strapped to a bed by his wrists with leather restraints. He could taste the charcoal cocktail the hospital must had given him when they pumped his stomach, and he felt something else.

He had tubes going in through his nostrils and wrapping around his ear. Feeding tubes.

Sherlock looked drearily out the window, having dreaded this moment more than anything he ever had in his life. The hospital was pumping him full of fat and calories to make him gain weight and then he'd be even fatter than he was now. If there was a Hell, he was certainly in it right now.

"Oh good, you're awake…"

Sherlock looked back to see John walk through the doors and then stand close to Sherlock's bed. The detective felt betrayed and angry, bitter that his friend had done this to him. "Why? Why did you do this to me? How could you?"

John looked at him in disbelief. "Why? How could I? Jesus, Sherlock! You're acting as if I sold you out to the police! I haven't even told them about all the drugs you keep in the flat! I'm just… I'm just trying to fix you."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "_Fix me_?" he spat with disgust. "I don't need to be _fixed_! I need to get out of here!"

John shook his head in disagreement. "No, I don't think you do, Sherlock. Trying to force you to eat doesn't do any good, and neither does Molly being with you in a real… relationship. I just don't know what else to do, mate."

"How about trusting me to eat on my own in our flat? This whole thing is ridiculous…"

John searched his face. "This is what normal people do to help the people they love. And as far as trusting you to eat and take care of yourself? Well, obviously that's out of the question."

"I hardly think the restraints are necessary at least, John."

"Really? I'm pretty sure without them, you'd rip out those tubes and we can't chance that. Do you have any idea what your body mass index is, Sherlock?"

He sighed and shrugged half-heartedly. "Too much."

John gave him a sad smile and shook his head. "It's under 16. That's severely underweight, Sherlock. You've dipped down too low. I'm sorry for doing this to you but it had to be done and frankly, I'm surprised Molly hadn't done it sooner."

Sherlock froze, debating whether or not to tell him her secret. John didn't know about Molly Hooper also being a disordered eater as well but then let the thought vanish. If he ratted her out, he may as well kiss any chance of her coming back to him goodbye. She'd never forgive him for putting her in here like John had put him in here. Sherlock didn't want to chance losing her forever. She wasn't underweight. She wasn't in the danger zone. Yet.

"She wanted to, but I insisted she didn't. How long am I expected to be in here? Honestly, John, this is a waste of everyone's time and energy…"

"I don't know, but that's up to you. If you cooperate, you might get out in a few weeks' time but it could be longer if you give everyone a difficult time – "

Sherlock suddenly yelled out and kicked his leg hard onto the bed only because he couldn't move his arms. "A few weeks? I can't stay in here for a few weeks! Damn it, John, if I mean anything to you, you'll sign me out today!"

John Watson barely flinched at his friend's outburst. "Sherlock… you're on the road to killing yourself from starvation. Case or not, you can't keep not eating. It's because you mean everything to me that I'm not signing you out today."

Sherlock felt like he had been slapped in the face. He looked at John with hatred in his eyes as the tubes continued to pump him full of nutrients. "I'll _never _forgive you for this, John."

The doctor looked at him with solemn eyes but he nodded. "Even if you don't, at least you'll still be alive, Sherlock. One day, you'll thank me for this." With that, he finally turned away from the detective and walked out of the room.

Sherlock Holmes yelled a loud anguished cry before he started to thrash on the bed again, trying to get the restraints off his wrists so he could find a way to escape out of this Hell. He couldn't stay here. He screamed and screamed until his throat became hoarse and finally he saw a nurse come in with a needle.

"If you would be so kind as to loosen the restraints a bit, I'd appreciate it," he forced out with a bitter politeness.

The nurse ignored him as she grabbed his arm and injected the serum into his body before she walked out as quietly as she came in. He soon felt the sedative slow down his heart and make him drowsy. Sherlock tried to fight it but he soon succumbed to the sudden exhaustion and closed his eyes.

When he woke up again, he saw Molly standing over him, biting her lip. He shook his head, almost in disgust.

"I have nothing to say to you, Molly Hooper."

She looked partially hurt at first, but quickly found her own voice. "It wasn't me who put you in here, Sherlock. You have no right to be angry at me."

"I'm not angry at you. I have no reason to be angry at you, and I know it. You left because the things I said and did. You left because you were worried about me and I wouldn't get help. You didn't dial the hospital to put me in here, John did."

She nodded knowingly and searched Sherlock's face. "So why are you being so cold towards me? It's not fair to take your anger out on me."

He looked at her with dead eyes. "Because I'm stuck in here and you're not when you have the same mental illness as I do. I'm stuck restrained to this god forsaken bed and you're free to walk around and do as you please! That's why I'm being cold towards you."

Molly swallowed hard and looked down at her hands, looking a bit nervous now. "Thank you, for not selling me out to John. I… I appreciate that, Sherlock. I know you could do it, but I'm grateful that you haven't."

"Your gratefulness might be a bit too premature, Molly. If I'm going to be locked up in here for almost a month, getting fattened up again, I might end up selling you out to John. There's still time for you to get a nice cozy bed next to me," Sherlock almost warned.

She appeared uneasy now, taking a couple steps back from his bed. Molly looked at him as if she had no idea who this man was in this bed and even looked a bit frightened. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, but I believe John did the right thing. I know this is partially my fault, but you really do need the help. I wouldn't be able to ever forgive myself if you… if your heart stopped, for good. You can be cold to me and hate John all you want but it's not going to get you out of here any earlier."

Sherlock took in these words but felt too bitter and selfish at the moment to acknowledge them. He closed his eyes and turned his head away, looking back out the window until he heard the door click shut once again. He dreaded what was to come.

He dreaded the hospital food and the hospital full of idiots who could just barely do their job. Sherlock dreaded the pounds he would gain in the upcoming days and weeks and he dreaded John going through the flat and searching for pills.

Most of all, however, he dreaded losing John and Molly once and for all because he knew it was not only possible; he knew it was probable.


	10. Tell Me You Love Me

Thank you for the review! Please forgive me if the next chapter is delayed a few days. I think I'm coming down with something.

* * *

Chapter Ten: Tell Me You Love Me

**.o.o.**

**.o.**

Sherlock woke up slowly to the sound of John whispering into his phone in the room. He went to rub his eyes but then felt a tug in the opposite direction when he remembered he was still in restraints.

"No, I told you. I need today off from Clinic duty. Yeah, I'll make up for time lost, I promise you. There's just a… family emergency that I need to take care of and… what? No, no. That won't be necessary. Okay, yes. Thank you very much," John hung up and sighed before he looked over at Sherlock.

"Oh good, you're awake again… how do you feel?"

The detective sighed and thought about John's question. He still felt angry but his exhaustion was overpowering the anger. "Fine, I feel fine, John. Who was that you were talking to? Superior? Upper management? Surely you weren't asking for today off to watch me lay in a bed all day."

John looked slightly irritated before he gave Sherlock a hard smile. "That's not impressive to me, Sherlock. It's pretty obvious it was my boss and you're the one with the medical condition right now, are you not? You're also as good as my family so yes, Sherlock, I just took off from work to watch you lay in a bed all day, right? Jokes on me."

"The only joke is the fact the hospital actually thinks they can keep me here. I'm not a minor nor am I a danger to myself."

John shook his head. "Not a danger? You're kidding, right? You were going to kill yourself getting down to whatever weight it was you think would've been… perfect… and you honestly believe you're not a danger to yourself?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John's passive aggressive concern. "I know what it seems like but I would've been perfectly fine, John!"

"Well I hate to tell you this but the hospital and everyone else appears to disagree with you. You need to stay here until you get your weight back up to a healthy number. I wish I could…" John trailed off before he waved his final thought away.

Sherlock looked up at him curiously. "You wish you could what, John?"

The doctor gave a defeated look before his eyes became solemn. "I just wish I could understand this, Sherlock. I wish I could understand why you're doing this to yourself. My sister, an alcoholic, I can understand. It's an addiction. But this… your… _eating disorder_ is just something I can't begin to understand."

"My eating disorder is an addiction of another sort, John. I just want to lose weight and the lower the number becomes, the more addicting it is to keep going. It's about control," Sherlock attempted to explain.

"Of course it is. Sherlock Holmes always has to have control over something. You don't have any control over this illness though, so I don't understand…"

Sherlock sighed impatiently. "It's about having thoughts you can't control but also controlling the weight so it doesn't exceed and drive you absolutely mad. The number I see when I step on the scale is the number that haunts me all day long. It's all about number systems, John. Every single bite I eat, or don't eat, is in my control."

John was still looking confused but a bit less than he had looked earlier. He just nodded, letting Sherlock know he was listening intently and at least trying to understand. "Jesus, Sherlock. I knew you had an eating disorder but I never thought it was this bad… I suppose I just chalked it up to you only concentrating on the cases but… not this…"

Sherlock could see the genuine fear on his friend's face and was taken aback by it. "What are you afraid right now, John?"

John massaged the bridge of his nose before he looked up at Sherlock. "I-I'm…. I'm scared of you dying… _that _is what I'm so afraid of."

He took this in and sighed inwardly, trying not to let his ungratefulness show. "You don't need to be scared of that. It's not going to happen. They're pumping me full of fat and nutrients at this very moment. I'll be back up to a healthy weight in no time. I'm not going to die, John."

The doctor didn't look entirely assured by this. "And after? What happens after they release you from hospital? What will you do then?" John choked out before he turned away from Sherlock to stop him from seeing the tears that were visible in his eyes.

He thought for a few minutes. "I don't know. I suppose I'll… try and lose the weight they forcefully made me gain back."

"So you being in here is for naught? You're going to go back to your old ways… why even bother with all of this then?"

"You tell me. You're the one who put me in here in the first place. That's just what I've been trying to tell you, John. There's no point, my incarceration in here," Sherlock shrugged.

John looked at the tubes that looped around his nose and closed his eyes, letting a single tear drop down his cheek before he sniffed and then cleared his throat. "It's not incarceration, Sherlock! I'm trying to save your bloody life!"

"I don't need saving, John! It's you who needs to be saved! Can't you see that?" Sherlock suddenly burst out.

"_I _need saving? From what exactly?"

"From your boring, mundane, little life. You're bored and looking for a fix, just like I do except your fix is danger, and getting into dangerous and potentially life-threatening situations," Sherlock stated with confidence. "Even if it means throwing me into hospital because of a… mental illness," Sherlock rolled his eyes at the last two words, finding it ridiculous to say aloud.

John took a couple long steps towards the detective. "You think I want you to be in here, sick? You think I want your life to be in danger? How the hell does that benefit me and my fix?"

Sherlock took a long observational look at his ex-roomie and took in his appearance:

_Wrinkled shirt_

_**Dishevelled hair**_

_Coffee stain on the sleeve cuff_

_**Leaning forward, slept in a chair**_

_Slept poorly_

"You're used to me being self-destructive, John. You know how I act. You've been sleeping here at the hospital ever since you moved out, which tells me you don't have a significant other because if you did have one, you would've moved in with them. Your shirts are wrinkled and you have a coffee stain on the sleeve, which tells me you either haven't had the opportunity to change your shirt or you are just too worried to," Sherlock deduced. "You decided you were going to take off from your clinic duties the second I was placed in here, which tells me you're bored with work and a self-destructive narcissist is more exciting for you right now. Me being strapped to this bed excites you, so now _please _do tell me who the sick person is right now."

John's eyes widened and his eyebrows raised, almost in realization. He looked down and scratched the back of his head. "You being here… doesn't excite me, Sherlock… it… it terrifies me. I'm sorry, but for once, you're wrong about me."

"I'm never wrong, about anyone, especially you. You know I'm not underweight enough to the point of being in danger of any vital organs shutting down, but yet you're choosing not to sign me out as healthy. I may be underweight but I'm not in the dangerous zone quite yet. The real reason you're keeping me here is because I'm a get-well project for you. I'm a challenge, and because you're addicted to a certain lifestyle, you're addicted to challenges," Sherlock remarked.

From John's slumped posture, he could tell that everything he said was verified. It wasn't just having slept in a chair that made John have that body posture; it was also a reluctance to accept what Sherlock had deduced was in fact, true. He did like things that got his adrenaline pumping, and even though Sherlock was in the hospital with an eating disorder, it still got John's heart racing, for better or for worse.

"It's not… it's not just that, Sherlock. You understand that, right? I mean, I do care about you and love you like a mate and everything…"

Sherlock nodded before he smirked slightly, satisfied that he had been right. "I know, John." The two of them were silent for several minutes before he spoke again, moving his eyes towards the window as it began to trickle down rain outside. "What day is it?"

"Err… it's Wednesday…"

"Wednesday," he breathed, thinking. "Hold on, I've been asleep for nearly three days?" he looked back at John with irritation in his eyes.

"I just thought it would make it easier on everyone who had to take care of you if you were asleep. Molly thought it'd be a good idea too," John tried to justify.

_Of course Molly did. If Sherlock wasn't awake, he couldn't tell John about Molly's own eating disorder and rat her out. _"She's in pathology. Why does she get to have a say about my being awake or being asleep?"

John gave him a puzzled look. "Isn't she your… girlfriend? She sees you more than I do now and you're asking why she gets to have a say about your treatment?"

Sherlock sighed, internally cursing himself. He knew that being with Molly and telling John about it would come back to bite him sooner or later. Of course being the only thing closest to family he had was her, it made sense the hospital would ask her all questions relating to Sherlock.

"I want to see her again. Bring her here, John."

John took a deep breath and walked closer to the bed, trying to figure his friend out. "Right. Sure, okay then. I'll… be back around later, I guess."

"So long. Don't forget about Molly."

Once he was alone again in his room, he looked over at the IV bag that held his nutrients and then looked farther over and saw a machine that held a sedative which was attached to a long tube that ended up being filtered through his hand. That was why he had slept so long. Sherlock let out a soft scoff of disgust just as someone walked inside.

He looked up and his jaw fell in disbelief. "What the _hell _are you doing here, Greyson?"

Lestrade didn't sit down but remained standing at Sherlock's bedside. "It's Greg, for the millionth time, and I came here to see the rumors really were true. I had to see it to believe it though."

_Molly, again. It had to be. _"Well obviously the rumors were true. You can find your way out the same way you came in now."

"Even when you're sick, you somehow find the ability to continue being a tremendous prick. It's amazing, really. In all seriousness though, Sherlock. What are you doing to yourself? You're wasting away…"

"Oh for God's sake, Lestrade, I already have John harping me about my behaviors, I don't need someone else doing it too. If you insist on staying then I really must insist you start talking about something that has nothing to do with my current condition," Sherlock snapped.

"Fine then. I've been trying to get a case for you to work on. I figured maybe that'll help you snap out of… whatever this is…" Lestrade made a random hand motion to signify Sherlock's slender form.

"A case? Are you serious? How am I supposed to work a case from this hospital bed, Lestrade?"

Greg looked at a loss for words and hesitated before he spoke. "Well, I don't suspect you'll be kept up in here that much longer. It's just a matter of you gaining weight, right? Eat and do what the nice doctors ask of you and you'll be out again in no time."

"I'm aware your small mind would ever be able to fully comprehend this but do try and keep up with me because I'm only going to explain this once to you, Graham."

"It's Greg!" Lestrade corrected once again.

"Right, sorry. _Greg. _Anyway, I have an eating disorder and it's not as simple as… eating a cheeseburger or eating in general. There's a reason why these tubes are hooked up to me; I can't eat enough voluntarily so they're force-feeding me. I'm terrified of gaining weight but it's mostly just about being in control of something since I've been having a rather difficult time these past couple weeks. I've been feeling out of control of everything and I've been doing things wrong, which is possibly why my eating disorder hasn't been in full swing until recently. I hadn't ate much during cases with John, even at once, but I did eat eventually and I didn't worry that much about numbers until two weeks ago. I suspect my dear brother has one as well, hence his constant dieting and over-exercise as well as his OCD tendencies. Not to blame genetics or anything of that sort but let's just chalk this one up to certain recent events that have occurred," Sherlock explained patiently. "It's about numbers and control for me so please think twice before you tell me to just… _eat_ because I promise that won't make me feel better nor will it make me eat; in fact, it'll make me feel worse and I'll just do the opposite."

Lestrade seemed speechless and bewildered for several moments before he nodded in acknowledge. His dark eyes somehow were filled with what Sherlock concluded was guilt. He was acting like he had been caught doing something wrong by a parent and was getting told off for it. Seeming his superior appear in such a way made Sherlock feel uncomfortable. He was used to Lestrade ordering him around but at the same time, letting the consulting detective do his job. Now that they were both in a place that equalized them as people, it seemed to change things.

"Right… right then. I didn't know. I don't come across many young men your age with this problem. You're doing the right thing though, by staying here. Even if you are…" Greg trailed off, motioning towards the leather restraints. "I… best be off but you take care of yourself, Sherlock. I'll come visit again soon."

He nodded towards the Detective Inspector and gave him a sarcastic smile. "Well, I'll be here."

He knew that Greg had left a lot earlier than the DI had anticipated but Sherlock couldn't deal with his company right now. He had bigger issues and one of those issues had just walked through the door. He watched as she closed the door behind her and made her way cautiously towards Sherlock's bedside.

"You sent for me?"

"I did," Sherlock nodded. "Could you be a dear and let me out of these restraints? I can't feel either of me arms."

Molly bit her lip and looked at him. "I'm not supposed to. You might rip out the feeding tubes and I can't be responsible for that. I'm sorry, Sherlock…"

Sherlock wanted to scream at her, yell at her for being able to walk freely in and out of the hospital, yell at her for not doing as he wanted but somehow, he completely understood her rationale. She wasn't disobeying him out of spite towards him or to show him that he couldn't always get what he wanted. No, she was disobeying him out of fear of being punished, fired, whatever. Molly had simply proven that she wasn't like everyone else who conversed with Sherlock. She respected him but she also respected authority more and still had the ability to deny him.

He found this charming, and therefore, found her charming. He didn't know why he felt this way, or why he still found the color of her eyes intoxicating or the soft touch of her skin addicting in a way that no drug ever felt.

"Just one, and you can stop me if I try to rip them out," Sherlock half smirked as he attempted to negotiate.

Molly looked at him somewhat warily but then sighed as she knelt down and unhooked the strap off one of his wrists before she sat down beside his bed. "Is that the only reason why you had John send for me?"

"No, of course not. Did you agree to let the hospital give me sedatives for three days straight so I wouldn't fight with them?"

Molly straightened out her knee-length skirt and then nodded. "Yes, I did. I tried calling your brother but he wouldn't come –"

"Naturally," Sherlock interrupted in a drawl.

"And since we were a couple, the hospital thought that I should be responsible to make decisions for your treatment," Molly continued, used to Sherlock's random intrusions into sentences.

"Were? We're not a couple anymore then?"

Molly wet her lips before she looked down at her hands distractedly. "Do you want to still be together, Sherlock? I thought you were still upset about… our situation."

He searched her eyes and gently rubbed his wrist where the restraint had started to rub his skin raw. "Of course I still want to be together, with you… I can still be upset and still… feel things for you."

"Would it pain you to say you love me?" she asked in a soft voice.

"I'm not sure. It just might. Thank you for asking though," Sherlock replied almost icily.

"Why did you really call me up here? I have better things to do than sit here and listen to you complain and be so… callous towards me."

Sherlock watched as she brushed a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. "I… apologize, Molly. I shouldn't take my anger out on you. I called for you because… I need you to sign me out of here."

Her eyes lifted to look at him. "You want me to sign you out? I can't just do that, Sherlock! You need to reach a certain BMI before they release you."

The detective slammed a frustrated hand down on his hospital bed before he gritted his teeth. "At least make it so I can have a cigarette. I'm going to go crazy in here, Molly. I need your help."

"I'll bring you your nicotine patches but you need to at least placate the doctors and get to a reasonable weight that they'll release you. Only _you _can do that. You have to help yourself this time," Molly pleaded. "I know what this must sound like, coming from me but I never said I wasn't a hypocrite, Sherlock. I'm not telling you that you need to not feel bad about this weight gain because I know I would if it was me in that bed and not you. All I'm asking is that you humor everyone and let them feed you, even if it's just through the tubes. That'll get you out faster."

Sherlock hadn't expected her to say these things. In fact, he had half expected her to actually agree to somehow get him released early. He knew he should've known better, though. "I'm going to gain a considerable amount of weight before they finally release me. I can't possibly them do that to me."

She leaned forward and took his large, slender fingers in hers. "If you truly want to be with me, and if you feel anything at all towards me, then you will let them, Sherlock. I miss you. I miss laying with you and talking with you and… sharing apples with you," she smiled sadly, caressing his skin before she brought it up to her face.

Sherlock inhaled sharply when he felt her do this and closed his eyes, letting himself revel in the feel of her skin again. He wanted out. He did want to lay with her, feel her in his arms, hold her. He wanted to talk with her again and most of all, he wanted to share apples.

"I miss those things too, Molly Hooper…" he whispered. "I miss them a lot."

She smiled a bit brighter and continued to caress the back his hand softly. "Then do this for me, Sherlock. Eat, gain a bit of weight, and then come back home to me. We can do those things again. It's not too late."

He relaxed and then opened his eyes again. "I'm only doing this for you. It doesn't change anything. Do you think you can talk them into giving me morphine to help me sleep?"

Molly's smile faded but didn't disappear completely. "You're not in any pain."

"That you can see…"

"Emotional pain doesn't warrant morphine in your machines, Sherlock."

He sighed silently but curved his lips up in a smirk. "I know, I just thought I'd give it a try. Have you been staying at my flat even though I've been here?" he suddenly asked.

Molly looked sheepish at first but then nodded. "I-I… I've sort of… moved in. I hope you don't mind too much."

Sherlock smiled again and he searched her face. "Not at all. I'm glad you did that. It stops me from worrying about you all the time. Worrying can be very tiring."

She gave him a sideways look. "You… you worry about me?"

"Of course I worry, Molly. Do you have any idea how many people would love to see me dead?"

Molly bit her lip to stop herself from grinning like a complete idiot. She caressed his hand again. "Well I don't want to see you dead, ever. Promise me that you really will try to get out of here, though. I want to be with you again. I can't do this on my own."

He didn't need to ask what she couldn't do; he already knew, probably better than anyone else. After all, Molly still had her secret. It wasn't laid out in a hospital bed for the rest of the world to see and no amount of vindictiveness on Sherlock's part would ever truly make him want her to be as miserable as he was. He knew full well what it felt like to be alone, both physically and emotionally and for once in his life, the only person he wanted to be alone with was Molly Hooper.

"I know," he nodded surely. "You won't be on your own. When I get out of here, you'll have me again and we can help each other, together."

Molly nodded in understanding. "Thank you, Sherlock…"

He leaned forward as far as the other restraint would allow him to and then kissed her cheek tenderly before he planted a soft kiss by her mouth. "I love you, Molly Hooper."

**.o.o.**

**.o.**

After she had left him alone again to go back to 221B and grab his nicotine patches, the sedatives forced him back into a peaceful slumber.

_In his dreams, he had killed someone who had tried to hurt Molly and John was on his hands and knees, desperately scrubbing away the blood that was on the floor and walls, while Sherlock looked down at him._

"_What are you doing, John?" Dream Molly asked him as she smiled oddly._

_Dream John didn't look up at her as he continued to scrub. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm cleaning up his messes, just like I always do."_

_Dream Sherlock calmly walked over to his violin and began to play while Molly took the wet rag from John's hands before she dropped down to her knees. "It's my job to clean up his messes now, John. Don't you know? He doesn't need you anymore. He has me. He has the key to my heart…"_

_John didn't look very put off by her words. He seemed to just nod, as if he understood completely, and then left the flat. _

_Sherlock watched from the living room as Molly cleaned up the leftover blood Sherlock had spilled after his rage had gotten the best of him, still playing his violin. She walked over after she finished and then kissed his lips so delicately before she looked up at him with an almost trancelike expression. _

"_Don't you worry about the body. I can hide it somewhere in the hospital morgue." _

"_I wasn't worried," Dream Sherlock told her. "I know you'll protect me. You always protect me, even when I don't deserve it." _

_Then Sherlock stood still as Molly placed a crown on his head. It was then when Dream Moriarty burst through the window, landing in a pile of broken glass but appearing completely unharmed, even smirking proudly._

"_The person with the key is King, and honey, you should see me in a crown," Moriarty smiled devilishly. _

_Dream Sherlock took a few steps towards Moriarty, pointing his long index finger at him accusingly. "You should be locked up." _

_Moriarty laughed long and hard before he stopped abruptly. "You should be careful, Sherlock. She's going to burn the HEART out of you…"_

_Then, Dream Moriarty suddenly grabbed Sherlock and threw him out the broken window, violin and all._

It was after he hit the sidewalk when Sherlock woke up with beads of perspiration on his face and neck, his hair matted to his skull with sweat. He panted, looking around almost fearfully before he realized it had all been a terrible dream.

Sherlock was about to wipe the sweat from his face when he felt something stop him. Someone had come in at some point and had put the other restraint back on him. He sighed, realizing just desperate he was to get out of here. He needed to get back home to 221B. He needed to get back home to Molly, his cigarettes, and most of all, sanity.


	11. Alone

A/N: Sorry it's been awhile. I've been sick so this is a slightly longer chapter.

**EDIT:** I changed the end of the chapter so if you've already read it, please scroll back down and read it again.

* * *

Chapter Eleven: Alone

**.o.o.**

**.o.**

With every passing week, Sherlock gained a little more weight, much to his own dismay. Nurses and doctors alike came in, checked his vitals, weighed him, and then disappeared again. By the second and a half week, the consulting detective was becoming stir crazy. The only good thing is that he had gained enough trust to be unrestrained, but only if there were someone in the same room with him at all times to make sure he didn't pull out the tubes that were forcing the nutrients in him.

He tapped incessantly on the arm of the bed, closing his eyes before he tried to go into his Mind Palace to calm himself down. He had already walked halfway through it when he heard a familiar voice.

"How are you doing today, Sherlock?"

The young man sighed and opened his eyes, giving her a weak smile. "I'd be doing a lot better if you, of all people, didn't talk to me like the nurses do, Molly. I've gained the required weight; I honestly can't understand why they insist on keeping me in this damn room."

She took his rough hand with her own and gently caressed his skin. "They just want to make sure you're keeping the weight on and not doing anything to try and lose it, that's all, Sherlock. You should be released in another day or so."

Sherlock shook his head, frustrated at her answer that gave him no relief. He absentmindedly let his thumb caress her own skin. The two stayed like this for several moments before he spoke again. "How are things going… at our place?"

It felt odd to call it _their _place but he knew it wasn't right to only refer to it as his own place, since Molly had moved in her things to live there with him as well. She bit her lip and nervously tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Err… good. Things are good there…"

Most men would've been ignorantly satisfied with her answer but Sherlock could sense something wasn't right. Her body had tensed up and the expression on her face looked uneasy. He straightened up in the bed and carefully looked at her. "What is it? What's wrong, Molly?"

She shook her head and sighed, trying to wave off whatever was bothering her. "N-No, it's… it's probably nothing at all. It's just me being… silly and just me overreacting, I imagine."

Sherlock searched her face and moved his hand towards her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "I know how you are, Molly. You usually have a level head about things. If something is bothering you, then it affects me as well. Please tell me what's happening at home…"

She gently rubbed her face into the cusp of his hand and then placed her own hand on top of his before putting it back in her lap. "I… I was coming home to Baker Street last week, I… I could sense someone was following me. It was when I was in the cab, there was another cab following us all the way from the hospital to your flat, and after I hurried upstairs, I looked out the window and the cab was still outside the flat, looking back up at me. There was a man I didn't recognize and the cab with the man stayed outside the flat for at least half an hour before it finally left."

Sherlock tensed slightly before he took a deep breath, feeling unnerved that someone was following Molly home. He searched her face as he started to talk aloud. "Why would he follow you and then wait for half an hour? Stalkers stalk their prey until they reach their destination and then they leave but this man… this particular man decided to stalk and then wait outside. Why would he do that?" He wasn't necessarily asking her for a definite answer but he was more so trying to figure things out in his head.

She was quiet for a bit until she offered an answer. "Maybe he wasn't waiting for me? Maybe… he was waiting to see if you would be at the flat soon?"

Sherlock debated this silently, putting his hands together in a praying formation. "Perhaps… maybe… he was expecting another man to follow you inside. He might have hired someone to get answers about me from you, and the man never showed up when he was told to."

Molly's eyes looked fearful for a moment but quickly dissipated again. "What kind of answers about you? Do you know this man?"

Sherlock mentally went through the various men he considered enemies in his head.

James Moriarty. Charles Magnussen. His brother Mycroft.

And those were just the three he could come up with off the top of his head. He had no doubt that there were plenty more he didn't even know personally.

"I need to get out of this bloody hospital today. You shouldn't be alone again… I don't feel comfortable leaving you to take a cab home by yourself again, not after what you've just told me," Sherlock confided, his face filled with concern.

Molly couldn't deny that it flattered her to have Sherlock Holmes be so worried for her safety but she knew that there was no way he would be released so early. He still had two whole days to be monitored. "What if… I ask John to walk me inside and make sure I'm all right?"

Sherlock thought about this and he couldn't refute the sense that it made. John was trained in self-defence. He could protect her if need be. "Yes, I think that might actually be best. I'm sure that I'll be seeing him again so I'll broach the subject to him. Be careful… if you have to run errands outside the hospital today, Molly. Be aware of your surroundings,"

She looked uneasy but nodded, questions in her eyes that never dared to reach her lips. He could see these questions as he looked at her and felt like he already knew what they were. He sighed to himself. "I've solved many crimes, Molly Hooper. In doing so, it would've been a miracle if I did not manage to make an enemy or two in the process. They'll get to me by getting to you and depending how long they've been checking up on me, they'll also know that we're together. They'll think that by hurting you, they'll hurt me too."

She nodded in understanding and then looked down at her hands. "And… will they? Hurt you if they hurt me? Will that affect you at all, Sherlock?"

He swallowed hard, afraid to admit that she really had become his weakness. Sherlock clenched his jaw and looked out the window as the sun began to rise in the sky. "Yes, that would hurt me."

By the look on Molly's face, he could tell that this hadn't been the answer she had expected, but it appeared to please her nonetheless. "G-Good. I mean, not for you but…"

"You mean because John and so many others have called me some kind of robotic, unfeeling machine," Sherlock deduced. "I'm aware of what they've called me and the things they believe, but you know me. You know how I truly am, Molly. Don't let anyone else change your opinion of me. Promise me that."

She looked back up at him and gave him a small, warm smile. "I promise, Sherlock."

"Good," he nodded, still feeling tense but at least a little less than before. "How are you doing? I feel like we've hardly gotten the chance to talk. The doctors and nurses have had me knocked out for just about my entire stay here."

"I've been good, but… I just miss you. I feel so much stronger when I'm around you. I feel… better, somehow," Molly admitted, blushing slightly. "I just want you back in my arms again. I hate sleeping alone like I did before. I don't feel safe."

Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement, no surprised she didn't feel safe without someone else there to protect her. He was no longer a mere skeleton but he had managed to gain more weight and was nearing the safety range of around one hundred and eighty. He felt heavy in his new body but felt like maybe it would come in handy if it came down to actually protecting her from whoever was trying to hurt her.

He leaned forward and took her cheeks in both of his hands before he looked her square in her olive green eyes. "I promise that I won't let anyone hurt you, Molly Hooper. I know you're scared right now but you just need to try and be brave for a couple more days, until I can get out of here, all right?"

She bit her lip but nodded before she looked at Sherlock. "You shouldn't promise me won't let anyone hurt me. You're trapped in here and I'm out there; it's… ridiculous to promise me you can protect me when you obviously won't be able to, Sherlock. I know that you wouldn't ever promise something like that before to me, not if you weren't one hundred percent sure."

He half scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I'm trying to be a better man for you and you're throwing it back in my face, unbelievable." Molly chuckled weakly before Sherlock continued. "I want to protect you and I _want _you to be safe, more than anything. I want you to do what you feel will make you feel the safest until I can be at the flat with you."

"What exactly are you suggesting? That I invite a male friend to stay the night?" Molly asked, almost incredulously as she tried to make sense of what he was saying.

"Not… not necessarily. I mean, if that would make you feel safe, then… I suppose you could invite them to stay the night to watch over you," Sherlock awkwardly agreed. Being new to having a girlfriend and being somewhere he couldn't protect her properly, he felt his options were annoying limited.

Molly chuckled again and smiled weakly, shaking her head. "We'll see. I'll only invite a male friend that I know you would trust. What time is it?" she asked, glancing up at the clock. "Oh crap, I need to get back to work. I'll come and visit you later, okay?"

"I'll have my phone. I know you're busy and I don't want you to get into trouble. Just message me later and let me know when you're safely at home," Sherlock laid back down, making himself comfortable again.

She nodded and then stood up before she leaned over and kissed his lips, careful not to bump the tubes that were attacked to his nose. "I… I love you, Sherlock."

"I love you too, Molly Hooper…"

She smiled brightly and then was about to attack his restraints back on when he saw John walk in. She released the leather cuffs and kissed his forehead instead before turning on her heel and finally leaving to return to her work, nodding politely to John as he entered.

Sherlock took a deep breath, already feeling mentally exhausted. He looked over at the machines that were monitoring his heart rate, almost as if he were willing a morphine machine to appear right beside him. He looked back to see John hovering over him.

"You're looking better then…"

Sherlock half shrugged. "I suppose. It's really very subjective, isn't it, John? Before, you were saying how awful I looked. What brings you here? Surely not to make obvious observations about my physical appearance…"

John shifted his body weight uneasily before he sat down, feeling a sense of déjà vu sweep over him. He had done this nearly five times a week for the past two weeks and it never got easier to see Sherlock laying helpless in the hospital bed. He was glad to see his friend gaining more mass on his body and even a little more muscle than before somehow.

"I'm… really happy to see you're getting better. You're looking a lot healthier, Sherlock. How… how are you feeling about it, gaining this weight?" John asked, curious.

Sherlock knew John's question was innocent enough but he had to force back the bitterness and resentment he still felt towards his friend for putting him in here in the first place. "I feel just about as good as I'm going to feel in here. Let's not talk about me though, John. I… I need to talk to you about something that's started happening."

John Watson sat up a bit straighter in his chair now and looked at Sherlock with genuine concern in his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Err… what is it, Sherlock?"

The detective wet his lips as he thought about how to describe the situation. "Molly Hooper informed me that a man has been following her from here to Baker Street after her shift. She told me that he stayed in the cab for nearly half an hour yesterday, as if he were waiting for another person to enter the flat with her, but that person never showed up."

John's eyes widened with interest and worry. "Who do you think is doing this? Why would they want to hurt her?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I'm not sure, John. Obviously, I can only assume it's one of the men we've stopped in the past, or have had past dealings with, and they finally know where to hit me the hardest. If they've been stalking me as long as they've been stalking Molly, then they know we're romantically involved, and therefore psychologically compromised. By hurting her, they know they can hurt me as well. It's rather clever…"

"Forget clever for a minute, Sherlock! These men, whoever they are, are trying to do… only God knows what to Molly to get to you. We have to do something to stop them," John remarked.

Sherlock shook his head. "They'll know we're onto them if we confront them. We need to at least wait until they're inside the 221B. Then we can claim self-defence. I'm still going to be stuck in here for two more days and part of a morning. You're going to have to watch over her, protect her until I'm released."

John looked uneasy but nodded without hesitation. The perfect soldier, doing his duty for man and country. So loyal. "Right, of course. So what do you want me to do, Sherlock? Take the cab to the flat and make sure she gets in okay?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, precisely that, John. I'd also advise for you check all the rooms and make sure no one's hiding behind any doors, under beds or in closets. I'd be… very… pleased if you would do that for me, watch out for her."

John gave a curt nod of acknowledgement back. "Then it's done. She's my friend too and the last thing I want is for her to get hurt either."

Sherlock nodded, realizing that John was trying to cover up the fact he actually wanted to make Sherlock happy in some way. "You're a good man, John. I knew I could count on you."

The two men sat in a semi-uncomfortable silence before John cleared his throat. "So then, only a couple more days before you're out? You must be excited."

Sherlock nodded slowly. "I am, but I'm also not, as you can imagine with our outside situation."

"Have any idea who's behind this?"

The detective shook his head. "It could be anyone. Women aren't really up Moriarty's alley so if I would have to guess, I would have to assume that it's Magnussen behind this. He's twisted enough to want to hurt women. Do you have any ideas who could be behind it?"

John shook his head and then shrugged half-heartedly. "It seems useless to even guess. Like you said, it could be anyone who wanted to hurt you. Now that they know what your weakness is, they can exploit it, right? I would say Magnussen as well, though."

Sherlock sighed, despising this feeling of helplessness. He felt the foreign and overwhelming urge to protect Molly, by any means necessary, and he literally couldn't do that for forty-two hours. It was beyond frustrating for the detective. "Does it change anything?"

John glanced up at the sudden change of topic. "I'm sorry?"

"Me gaining this weight. Does it change anything with us? With you? You moved out because of my condition before. Are you planning on moving back into the flat once I return home?"

John let out a short, nervous laugh before he scratched his forehead above his eyebrow and then looked at his friend. "I… don't think it does, no. I mean, you still have an eating disorder. You were forced to gain weight in order to be released from hospital. Just because you're about to be released doesn't change anything. You still have an eating disorder. What's to stop you from going back to your old ways and way of thinking? Anyway, I left because I didn't know how to… how to…" John trailed off before he looked away.

"Say it, John," Sherlock pushed him. "Just. Say. It."

"I didn't know how to _deal _with you! With your eating disorder… hell, I knew whatever I said around you wasn't going to help you! I moved out to help you, Sherlock. I moved out because I knew I wasn't going to be the right help you needed," John sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair.

Sherlock swallowed hard and tongued his cheek. "So… you're not going to move back in then?"

John stood up abruptly, nearly knocking the chair over. "Damn it, Sherlock. Of course I'm not! I'm only going over there with Molly to make sure she'll be all right and that's it. I'm going to continue to live in my current flat because… I don't know how to help you…"

"Is that what's bothering you, John? That you can't fix my problem?" Sherlock asked in disbelief.

John growled and started to pace before he turned to face his friend quickly. "Yes! That's what is bothering me! I'm a damn doctor and I don't even know how to help my best friend! I can give you all the anxiety medications and antidepressants in the world but I can't help you feel all right about your physical appearance! That's the most frustrating part for me. I wish you could see that."

Sherlock watched as John paced, unsure what he was feeling but believed that his friend's actions were unnecessary and an overreaction to his situation. "Of course you can't help me be okay about my physical appearance, John. It's all mental. It's… body dismorphia, I believe it's called. I'm seeing one thing, you're seeing another and it's all subjective. I'm not quite sure how you could help me see what you see but I don't understand why you can't move back in. I'm sure Molly would have no problem with you moving back in with us…"

John let out a huff of air before he shook his head. "I don't want to move back in because every time I would look at you, it'd just be a constant reminder to me about how I can't help you! Do you even realize how aggravating that is for me? Anyway, I realize you're new to the whole relationship game, Sherlock, but I can almost guarantee that Molly _will _have an issue with me moving back in."

"You still have your old room! She's all moved into mine… I still don't see why you can't move back in…"

"Because I don't _want _to move back in, Sherlock! Why can't you understand that? You're such a genius and yet you can be so incredibly thick at times, you know that?" John yelled at him, having lost his patience. "I can't help you and I'll just resent you for something you can't control! I don't' want to do that! I can't… it's unfair to you and Molly. I'm not moving in, and that's that," John replied in a tone that told Sherlock the conversation was clearly over.

Sherlock looked down at his lap, his lips pursed. He wanted to say so many things but he didn't want to upset John further, or worse, make him back out of his promise to watch over Molly. He was only as silent as his tongue would let him before he couldn't be quiet anymore.

"I really do appreciate you agreeing to look after Molly. I know you'll protect her if it comes down to it," he said in a low but confident voice.

John, seeming to have calmed down some simply nodded. "Of course. Well, I should be getting back to the Clinic. I'll let you know if our mystery man shows up again." He walked out of the room, leaving Sherlock to his own thoughts again.

**.o.o.**

**.o.**

Molly tucked a long lock of her hair behind her ear after she closed her locker door and grabbed her purse. She was the only one in the darkened locker room but she was so used to it that it no longer bothered her. She wasn't afraid of what was lurking in the women's changing rooms in the hospital but feared more what could be waiting in 221B.

She headed out of the room, shutting everything off before she made her way downstairs towards the lobby where John had told her to meet him during their lunch break. Molly waited patiently for him as he shut his Clinic light off and walked over to him. His eyes looked tiredly at her but he somehow faked a smile.

"Ready, then?"

She smiled back weakly before nodding. "Yup."

John hailed a cab and let her slide in first before sitting beside her and telling the cabbie where to go. As they rode on in silence, John watched as the raindrops started to hit the windows of the cab harder and harder until they were in a downpour. Once they were about five minutes away from Baker Street, he cleared his throat.

"How well do you think you know Sherlock, Mary? I mean, _really_ know him. I lived with the man for nearly four years and had no idea about his eating disorder until he started having panic attacks and started fainting from malnutrition in front of me," John scratched his chin thoughtfully.

Mary swallowed hard and sighed. "I know him well enough, John. Possibly even better than you know him. I've known him for nearly seven years. He told me about his eating disorder when we started going out -"

"Oh, but you had no idea about it until recently? Wow, for someone who knew him longer than I have, I would've thought that you would know him better than I did," John shook his head almost in disappointment. "I'm surprised, really. Do you know about his amphetamine and morphine addictions? How long did that take for him to tell you about those things?"

Molly could tell that there was a cold tension in the back of the cab between the two of them now and she also became tense. She glanced out the window at the rain. "I did know about his addictions. I sort of had a feeling about them earlier on but... when they pumped his stomach and everything, it just verified what I had guessed all along."

John nodded and then looked over at Molly expectantly. "What about Redbeard?" When he saw her look at him with a confused expression, he smiled almost sickly. "Oh, you don't know about Redbeard? Hm... that's interesting. I would've thought he told you about that for sure. I wonder... how much do you really know about Sherlock? You moved into the flat awfully fast."

Molly felt her chest tighten with anxiety and uneasiness. She bit her lip and looked down at her hands. "I... I know enough about Sherlock... why are you doing this, John? Are you jealous? Is that it?"

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Nope, not jealous. I'm only worried for you, Molly. He's hurt you in the past and I'm just concerned for -"

She looked at him with anger in her eyes. "For my feelings? You barely know me; we hardly ever talk. When have you ever been concerned for my feelings? I talk to Sherlock more than I talk to you. Why are you trying to tear us apart?"

"I'm not trying to tear you two apart... I just want you to be aware of what you're getting into with him, Molly. Don't forget that he's Sherlock Holmes. He's not everyone's favorite person, if you haven't guessed already. He's cold, mechanical and -"

Molly shook her head, feeling disgusted with John right now but unable to help the fearful tears that were starting to form in her eyes. She noticed for the first time that the cab was stopped in a traffic jam as the rain soaked everyone walking outside. She opened the door and then got out, carefully walking across the street towards the sidewalks. She started to hurriedly walk towards 221B in the rain, apathetic to the rain that was soaking her hair and clothes.

She heard John calling out to her before finally running to follow her towards the front door. John grabbed her arm forcefully and then turned her to face him, searching her face. "There's some... madman following you and you think it's a brilliant idea to just get out of a cab, make a scene and walk over here? I don't think you were made for Sherlock at all. I'm quite disappointed with his choice of girlfriend, honestly; I would've thought he could pick a brighter one..."

Molly felt hot tears mixing with the rain on her face as she slapped him now. "Just shut up, John! What do you want me to say? That I don't know him better than you? That I'll move out so you can move back in with him? Well, I'm sorry but I'm not saying either of those things! I still believe I know him better than you do, and I'm sorry that you can't be happy for us. Now let me go!"

She ripped her arm out of his grip and opened the door quickly before hurrying inside and then closing it behind her. Molly let out a sob suddenly but then took a deep breath and ran up the stairs to Sherlock's flat and locked the door behind her, just to feel safe. Once she was inside, she slide down against the wall to the floor and then started to cry in her hands, her body shaking.

Everything was all wrong and Sherlock wasn't even here to keep things straight and rational. Even though he was mechanical sometimes, that was one of the things that she really did love about him. When he could tell her facts, constant statistics or trivia, it gave her a sense of calm too. It felt like other things were building up upon her shoulders; Redbeard and the possible things she didn't know about Sherlock, the man who kept following her, and the fact that she hadn't eaten in almost five days and the dizziness and lightheaded feeling that came from it. It felt like it was all too much for her to handle by herself. She wanted Sherlock to be back to hold her again in his arms, and tell her it would be okay.

However, for two more days, she would have to deal with it herself. Molly sobbed into her hands for almost half an hour before she stood up finally and made her way towards the bathroom. She stopped in front of the open room, debating. She felt her stomach sink and an urge threatening to take over. No, she couldn't do that. Not when Sherlock would be coming home so soon. She forced herself to step away from the bathroom and then walked into his bedroom and closed the door unnecessarily. She fell into his bed and hugged Sherlock's pillow close to her, breathing in the smell of man musk and an oaky pine smell. She closed her eyes as more tears fell down her face and imagined that the man she loved was lying beside her, asleep.

She imagined she wasn't alone anymore.


	12. Home Again

A/N: If anyone is reading this then I apologize for the short chapter. I'll try to make it up in the next one.

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Home Again

**.o.o.**

**.o.**

Sherlock felt relieved when he saw the doctors release him from the restraints and take out the plastic tubes that were attached to him, along with the one that forced the calories into his body. He watched on in silence until the last one had been taken out and the nurses set his clothes back down on the bed.

He looked up to see John standing over him, wearing a white coat. "I can leave now, _doctor_?"

John Watson nodded and cleared his throat. "Yes, Sherlock. You can leave now. You've met the required weight for your release. Now you can go back home to Molly and continue starving yourself to death again."

Sherlock looked up at him, waiting until the other doctors and nurses left the room so he could get dressed. "What's your issue with me, John? Why so bitter?"

John kept his eyes on Sherlock's upper body and face while the detective got dressed. "What are you talking about? There's no issue here, Sherlock. I was just telling you what you can do when you get back home."

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes before he looked at the doctor whom had once been his close and only friend. "Oh, right. I imagine you'd like to tell me something else I can do right about now too."

The doctor narrowed his eyes before he gritted his teeth. "I'm not as ignorant and stupid as you play everyone else to be, Sherlock. I _know _how you are, I know how you act. Is it really that big of a secret that you're going to go back to restricting your calories? Tell me, does Molly even care that you do that? Or is she helping you too restrict?"

Sherlock felt his hands shaking but he kept them close to his body as he put his dark blue button down shirt on. His fingers trembled as he buttoned it up, trying to keep his anger at John in check. He clenched his jaw firmly and finally looked at him. "Tell me, how do those sour grapes taste, John? I imagine they can't taste too nice."

John looked at Sherlock in confusion. "I-I'm sorry? What do you mean 'sour grapes'? I'm not sour about anything…"

The detective finished buttoning his shirt and then put his long black coat on. "Really, are you sure? Your bitterness could've fooled me, John." When the doctor continued with his bewildered expression, Sherlock went on. "I may be anorexic, but I know what you are as well. You can hide and pretend all you like, but you can't fool a genius."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Sherlock…" John shook his head.

Sherlock couldn't stop himself from smirking. "On the contrary; you know _exactly _what I'm talking about. You had your chance. I gave it to you… I put myself out there and you could've taken what you wanted but instead, you chose to ignore it. You pushed down your feelings, pretending they didn't exist. You were ashamed, and now it's too late."

John swallowed hard and straightened up but shook his head in denial. Sherlock could tell he had hit the nail on the head with his deduction of the doctor. He put on his shoes and socks, the two of them silent before John found his voice again.

"You're… unbelievable, Sherlock. You're such a complete narcissist that you'd rather believe I had feelings for you than believe I'm worried about your failing health! Wow… just wow," John chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You can laugh if it makes you feel better but I know the truth, and the truth isn't going to set you free. It's going to do quite the opposite," Sherlock replied calmly, confidently. "It's going to eat you alive."

He walked out of the room and it wasn't until he was halfway down the hall of the hospital that he heard the sound of John yelling and his clipboard being thrown across the room before it hit the wall. Sherlock smiled to him, satisfied that he had struck a nerve. After he checked himself out and hailed a cab, he took a deep breath.

It was probably a bit sick that he had caused John to act in such a manner but he felt like all the times when John told him what to do, all the relentless nagging… it was all too much and doing this to him felt like sweet revenge. He knew the ins and outs of John Watson, much to the doctor's dismay, and he knew what buttons to push, what nerves to hit. He felt like he had it coming and John clearly was not on the same side as him anymore.

Sherlock felt both overwhelmed and overjoyed to be back at Baker Street when the cab pulled up to 221B. He paid the cabbie and then hurriedly walked inside before he ascended the stairs. He tried the doorknob but it didn't open and he didn't have his spare key on him. The trip to the hospital had been unplanned that he didn't have time to grab any belongings.

"Molly? Are you in there? It's me…"

It took her only moments to open the door and once she did, a bright smile spread across her face before she wrapped her arms around him. He let out a deep, throaty chuckle before he wrapped his arms around her and gently walked her into the flat so he could close the door. He held her close and then tensed up when she didn't let go after several moments.

Something wasn't right.

He gently forced himself away from her but cupped her face and noticed for the first time that her eyes looked red and puffy, as if she had been crying. "What's wrong, Molly? What is it?"

She sniffled and then shook her head. "Nothing, I-I'm just… I'm just glad to see you back is all. I'm s-sorry… I didn't want t-to be like this right n-now, not in front of y-you…"

He searched her face for the answers he couldn't read. He gently tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and then moved her over to the couch, sitting down beside her on it. "Did… John call you or anything?"

Molly's eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion before she shook her head. "What? N-No… no, he didn't. Why would he? Did you two have a row at t-the hospital?"

Sherlock immediately regretted putting the attention on himself but he found that this time he didn't want to lie to her. "Yes, we did. I just assumed he called you and told you off or something. Why are you crying though?"

Molly Hooper forced a sad smile and then wiped her newly fallen tears onto her sleeve. "N-No, Sherlock… I told y-you. I'm just really h-happy you're back…"

He sighed and gave her a dissatisfied look. He cupped her face in his hands again and searched her red eyes. "I know when people are lying, Molly. Just tell me the real reason why you're upset. I won't be mad. Whatever you've done, I'm sure we can work it out together."

As he looked at her, he suddenly realized that she had lost at least six pounds since the last time he had seen her a few days ago. Her eyes looked sunken into her skull and he could see it in her fingers and her legs. He swallowed hard, unsure how he couldn't see all the weight she had been losing in the past weeks. How was it that it was only now he was noticing her dwindling form?

"I-I'm… I'm scared, Sherlock," Molly admitted, looking into his eyes.

He wet his lips, trying to rattle his brain for a list of things she could possibly be afraid of, then he remembered. "Is it because of the man who's following you? Is that why?"

Molly bit her lip and took a deep breath. "That and… I don't know. I'm scared for us…"

It was frustrating Sherlock that he couldn't totally understand her fear. He was usually good at this sort of thing. "Why? Why are you scared for us? I need more to go on here…"

"Because of what John said to me the day I came back from the hospital!" Molly suddenly exclaimed, looking away as her shoulders trembled. "John a-and I sort of… got into a row that day…"

Sherlock tensed up again but forced himself to keep his anger tucked down inside of him. "What did he say to you, Molly? What did you two fight about?"

She was quiet for several moments, debating whether or not she wanted to go into his first day back from the hospital. Molly bit her lip and then stood up before she walked over to the fireplace, beginning to fiddle with the skull he had on the mantle. "I'm sorry, Sherlock… maybe we shouldn't do this right now."

Sherlock stood up now and walked in front of the coffee table. "Do what now? Talk about John? We're just having a discussion. I only want to know what he said to you…"

Molly continued on with her previous thought, as if she didn't hear Sherlock speak. "We should be celebrating. We should be talking about happy things. We shouldn't be talking about John."

He could hear her voice shaking uneasily, maybe not even trusting her own voice. The fact that she had ignored his question worried the detective now. He took another step closer to her, frustrated that she wasn't giving him straight answers. He wanted to calm her fears and hesitations but she wasn't opening up to him.

"Molly, I need you to focus and tell me what he said to you that day."

She let a tear fall down her cheek and off her face before it crashed onto the carpet. Molly looked at Sherlock through the mirror, her stomach twisting uncomfortably. "N-Nothing. Please, just forget I even brought any of it up… I'll go make us some tea," she started to walk away but felt a firm hand grip her arm.

He held her still, looking at her with determined eyes. "No, Molly. You brought it up for a reason! You _want _to talk about this! You wanted me to know for a reason!"

She tried to pull her arm away from his grip but it tightened even more. She let out a gasp and then a cry of pain, causing him to release her in surprise. Molly turned to look at him now and saw the heartbreaking look in his eyes.

"I'm… I'm sorry if I hurt you, but we need to talk about this. Did he do something to you, Molly? If he did, you need to tell me. If he hurt you, it's vital you tell me," Sherlock tried to persuade her, a softness in his voice.

Molly hated herself for acting like this in front of Sherlock. She hated herself for being overly dramatic but she felt like she couldn't help it. It had been such a big deal to her and it felt worse than John physically hurting her. She felt like he had torn out her heart and replaced it with ice. "What… or… who is Redbeard, Sherlock?"

He swallowed hard and straightened, searching her face again. "Redbeard was the dog I had when I was a child. Did John mention Redbeard to you, then? Interesting, I wonder why he would do that."

"Why didn't you ever mention him to me, Sherlock? Why didn't you want me to know about a dog you had when you were little?" Molly forcefully wiped away her tears again.

He thought about this. _Why _would John mention Redbeard? And why would it cause Molly to cry? She had been crying for some time, it was obvious to him. There had to be more to this. Then it hit him. The scene at the hospital earlier with John. "Redbeard is more than a dog to me, Molly. He's… the only thing I've ever properly loved and cared about, well, up until you, that is. Did he say anything else to you?"

Molly nodded reluctantly and then looked down at her red hands as she absentmindedly rubbed them to ease her own anxiety. "John accused me of not knowing you very well. He said how he was concerned for me because… y-you've hurt me in the past and he wanted to remind me of what I was getting into with you. Then… he proceeded to tell me how he was disappointed in your choice of girlfriend. That was pretty much all there was…"

Sherlock nodded in understanding. "I'm not surprised he said those things to you. He mentioned Redbeard to you because that's the only thing I haven't told you about, until now, and he knows I wouldn't have told you about him so early in our relationship."

"Why? Why's he doing this, Sherlock?"

Sherlock sighed and gently thumbed away a stray tear that had fallen down her cheek. "He's trying to break us up, I believe. He doesn't want us to be together. He'll say anything to turn you against me."

Molly smiled weakly when his thumb touched her cheek so gently. She moved in closer to Sherlock who wrapped his arms around her. "It didn't work," she whispered into his chest.

He smiled and then leaned down, kissing her hair and breathing her in. By her vanilla scented shampoo, she had taken a shower sometime this morning. It was still fresh and smooth. "Good. That's my girl. If he says anything else to you, I suggest you ignore him and call me."

"I will," she replied into his shirt before she finally let him go. "Are you hungry?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm still full from the calories they pumped into my stomach for nearly three weeks. If… you're hungry, you can eat, though."

She hesitated and then looked away, swallowing hard. "N-No… I'm not hungry either."

He watched as she started to anxiously rub her hands again, causing red blotches to appear on her skin. He stepped forward and then took her hands in his own before bringing them up to his mouth and kissing them. Sherlock forced her to meet her eyes. "Come on, we should eat, even if we're not hungry."

Granted, the idea of ingesting even more calories and fat made Sherlock nervous but seeing Molly's thinner figure made him more nervous. She hadn't eaten because he hadn't been there to eat with her. She dreaded eating alone but he knew that the only way she would eat now would be if he ate as well. Somehow, he felt more worried for her than for himself. His body had gained at least ten pounds since he had been placed in hospital. She looked like she was going to faint at any moment.

Molly followed him into the kitchen and sat down at the table. "Can I please have some water, Sherlock?"

He grabbed a glass but then stopped as he was about to fill it up. Sherlock looked at the wall in realization now. "How about some juice instead?"

She looked up now, visible fear in her eyes. "I think I'd much prefer water with whatever you plan on making for us…"

He bit his lip and exhaled slowly. He filled the glass with water before he hesitantly set it down in front of her. Water meant that she could force the food back up more easily if she had that idea in her mind. Maybe this was what she had done in the past when they had eaten together. She had used the bathroom afterward to rid her body of the calories. How did he not see this sooner?

She took a sip of it as she looked over at Sherlock, watching as he started to cook up some vegetables. It didn't go unnoticed with Molly when he occasionally looked over at her with a concerned expression on his face.

"Say it, say whatever you need to say," she encouraged, chewing on her bottom lip.

"I'm… I'm afraid to," he confessed softly as he stirred the frozen vegetables in the pan on the stove.

She looked down at her lap before finally looking up at him again. "We need to be honest with each other. We should tell each other the secrets that no one else knows, shouldn't we? I… I don't want you to keep anything from me and I think it's only fair that you ask the same of me."

Sherlock stirred the vegetables again before he turned to look at her with an unreadable expression on his face. "All right, then. You haven't been keeping your food down since you can remember, have you?"

She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed to herself. Molly could feel her face redden with shame. "N-No, I haven't. It started in my teens and I just couldn't _not _eat. I was always so hungry and even if I could taste the food in my mouth, I felt okay. I felt like I could eat without gaining weight. Obviously it didn't always work out that way and I realized that it was better if I didn't eat anything at all but… purging it back up makes me feel clean, empty. Oh god, this… sounds so disgusting doesn't it?" She shook her head and then looked back down at her hands.

He was quiet for a few moments, feeling taken back but he didn't feel like he could be upset with her for holding all of it back from him. She looked visibly embarrassed by her condition and it wasn't like he was really any better than her. "It makes sense, Molly. I… don't love you any less. We all have our vices but what defines us is our virtues."

She looked up at him now, a small smile on her face. "And what are my virtues?"

Sherlock smiled back at her. "You're loyal, brave… honest. You're highly intelligent, even if you can't see it. You know what the right things to do are, and the wrong things. You've gotten at least half the human race beat by miles."

She laughed softly and shook her head. "Stop it, Sherlock… it's not nice to say things you don't mean."

Sherlock turned to stir the vegetables some more before he shut the fire off from underneath the pan and placed the vegetables on two places, giving her more. "When have I ever not said anything I didn't mean?"

Molly watched him with love in her eyes. "Oh, maybe every time you need to get your way?"

He smirked and then sat down at the table across from her. "Well, not this time. I've already got my way. I have you, don't I?"

Molly smiled brightly now and then searched his face. "I don't deserve you, Sherlock. I really don't. I honestly don't know how I got so lucky…"

The detective looked up at her. "I'm the lucky one, Molly Hooper. You've saved me… so many times. If you haven't pushed yourself into my life, we probably wouldn't be together. I feel glad to you have in my life. I love you, and I care for you so much. I'd… lay my life down for you, if necessary."

She was speechless but only because she never heard him talk so deeply about her like this. She could feel fresh tears in her eyes but this time she made sure that it stayed in them. "I feel the same way about you, Sherlock. I'd do the same for you in a heartbeat," she nodded, as if she needed to emphasize the fact.

Sherlock nodded once and gave her another smile before he looked down at their lunch. "Shall we, then?"

Molly looked down at her vegetables and started to poke at them with her fork. She took small bites of the carrots and even smaller ones of the broccoli. She was quiet as she ate, hiding her anxiety the best she could.

As he watched her, he chewed on his lower lip. He didn't need to ask her what else was bothering her. Sherlock already knew. "I won't let anyone hurt you, Molly. Not John, and not this… other mystery man who's following you. I'm going to protect you."

She nodded but didn't appear entirely convinced. "Who do you think this man even is, Sherlock? What could he want?"

"I'm not entirely sure. I only hope it isn't who I think it is…"


	13. Protection

Chapter Thirteen: Protection

.o.o.

.o.

Sherlock was sitting Indian-style in his armchair, his eyes closed and his hands folded in a prayer style. He had been in this position for at least a few hours, just thinking. Moriarty had to be behind stalking Molly, but the question he couldn't figure out was why her? Sure, they were in a relationship but how could his arch-enemy even know he felt something towards her? Maybe he needed to do something to protect her. He had promised her that he would do that.

He opened his eyes to see Molly sitting in front of him, smiling softly. He glanced around at his surroundings before looking back at her. "How long have you been sitting there?"

"Only a couple of minutes. It's curious, you know. Watching you think. It's amazing how long you can sit in the same position for…"

Sherlock swallowed a hard lump in his throat and then clenched his jaw, afraid of what he felt like he had to do. "Molly, we need to pretend we're not together anymore. Before you even ask, no; I'm not breaking up with you officially but I believe we need to put on a show for whoever's stalking you."

Molly's smile faded and she looked down at her hands. "I-I don't understand… why would you want to pretend we're not together?"

He had been dreading her reaction but he had to admit that she was acting a lot braver than he had anticipated. "You're smart, Molly. I know you can figure this out. Try… think. Someone is trying to get to me by getting to you because…." He trailed off, encouraging her to make her own deductions as he usually did.

She bit her lip in thought. "Because they know you love me and – " She stopped in mid-thought, coming to a realization. "And he knows that I'm your weakness. You're Sherlock Holmes, of course you can't show any vulnerability."

It almost hurt him to hear her dejected voice but he was glad that she had figured it out on her own. It wasn't that he thought she was an idiot; it was quite the opposite. She was intelligent and had so much potential. Sherlock wanted to bring out the best in her. "Yes, you are… my pressure point. If it is who I think it is, he knows this fact or he at least suspects. Do you know who I'm talking about, Molly?"

She chewed on her bottom lip in anxiety before nodding. "Jim. Jim Moriarty, right?"

Sherlock smiled grimly. "That's right. I only want to protect you and I'm willing to do that any way I can, even if you find it disagreeable."

Molly didn't see entirely convinced. "So you think he won't hurt me if we're separated then? What's to stop him from kidnapping me if you're not around to protect me anymore?"

Sherlock cocked his head slightly to the side, not expecting her to ask these kinds of questions. "Well… I figured he'd kidnap you with or without me around. I can't handcuff myself to you at the hospital while you do your running around, can I?"

"I understand that, Sherlock. All I'm saying is that… we're stronger together than we are alone. _I'm _stronger when we're together, at least," she quickly corrected herself, all too aware of how independent Sherlock was. "I think it's foolish if I move out. I don't think it's a good idea at all."

Sherlock stood up and sighed heavily, but not out of impatience. He was used to being challenged by people; Lestrade, John, Anderson, Sally Donovan… even Molly. It pained him to admit that she did have a point that he hadn't previously thought of. If Moriarty had hired someone to kidnap her, it was going to happen either way. It wasn't even a question of 'if,' but it was a question of 'when' it was going to happen.

"Very well, then… you'll remain here with me. I'll come to the hospital with you. We do our work in the same department so we'll at least be near each other. We can keep an eye out for anyone suspicious," Sherlock reasoned.

Molly nodded but was still looking slightly nervous. She put her face in her hands upon feeling a sudden wave of dizziness before running her fingers through her hair.

He noticed her demeanor and stopped pacing, looking at her worriedly. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Molly shook her head, as if willing the dizziness away. "Nothing, I'm fine. Just… dizzy."

Sherlock couldn't deny his own dizziness he was feeling as well. It wasn't productive having two anorexics living together. It was like having gasoline and fire in the same room. Seeing how skinny she was becoming was becoming a trigger for him, and now his only problem wasn't just Moriarty. It was Molly Hooper as well.

He walked into the kitchen and poured her a glass of water before returning with it, holding it out for her. "If you're not going to eat, you need to stay hydrated."

She looked up and took the glass from him, annoyance at his hypocrisy in her eyes but she didn't say anything as she started to drink the water. When she was done, she set it down on the end table.

Sherlock suddenly got an idea. "I need to talk to my brother. Are you okay with him coming over here?"

Molly's upset expression faded away and was replaced with a combination of interest and curiosity. "Umm… no. I mean, yes. I'm okay with him coming over here. Do… do you want me to talk to him at all?"

Sherlock quickly typed out a message to Mycroft, requesting his appearance at the flat before he sent the text. "No, that's not necessary. I do suggest you still remain here, however. You can stay in our room or… keep Mrs Hudson company downstairs. Just… remain inside the flat."

Molly nodded obediently and in understanding. She stood up now and walked into the bathroom. A few moments later, Sherlock heard the sound of the shower running. He paced slowly until he heard the chime that signified a text.

He looked down at his screen. _One Message from Mycroft Holmes. _

_I'm in the area, anyway. I'll be there in about thirty-five minutes. – M_

Sherlock smiled to himself and then got made sure he looked decent before he traded his dress robe for a dark purple, button down shirt and dark trousers. Once he was dressed, he came out but the sound of crying stopped him in his tracks. He pressed an ear against the bathroom door.

"Molly? Everything all right in there?"

More crying, but from the hiccups and gasps, he could tell she was trying to hide it. "Y-Yes! I'll…I'll be o-out in a minute…"

Sherlock hesitated before he walked into the kitchen to put the kettle on. He took out one cup and placed a teabag inside of it for his brother. He heard the door of the bathroom open and then saw Molly come out in a towel, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen.

He examined her and instantly noticed how red and puffy her eyes were. Then, his eyes found red marks on her forearms. Sherlock swallowed the lump that was in his throat before he walked over to her and gingerly reached out for her arm, examining the five shallow horizontal cuts that were visible. From their appearance, they hadn't bled for very long, thankfully, and she had only pressed down hard enough to feel the sharp sting of pain.

"Why? Why did you do this?" he asked her, concern laced in his voice. When she didn't answer, he continued talking. "Is this because of Moriarty? Or… is this because of the eating disorder?"

He knew the feeling all too well; the numbness he felt when he felt empty. When he hadn't eaten anything, or at least very little, and his energy was depleted. The depression crept up on him and numbness took over. Sherlock could only assume the same thing happened with her as well.

She looked at him with almost empty eyes, half-shrugging. He deducted that the depression had crept up on her when she was in the shower. "A little from column A, and a little form column B."

He nodded and sighed inwardly, gently releasing her arm. Sherlock glanced at the clock on the wall before he looked back at her. "He's going to be here soon. Go put some antiseptic cream on those cuts and find something comfortable to wear. Relax, sleep… do whatever you feel like. I'll tell the hospital you're unavailable to come into work today."

Even through her sorrow, he could see her gratefulness. "Thank you, Sherlock." She looked like she was about to say something else but then turned away, moving back into the bathroom before re-emerging a few minutes later and then disappearing into his room before closing the door.

He didn't know why, but he felt a foreign urge gripping at him, compelling him to go follow her. Do something to make her feel better, even if it was just holding her in his arms and not even saying a word, but he didn't do this. It wasn't a logical action, especially when his brother was about to arrive any moment.

He had started to head towards the bedroom, though, when he heard the knock at the door and quickly changed directions.

"What brings you to the area, exactly, Mycroft? What business could you possibly have around here?"

The older brother walked elegantly inside before he turned towards his brother. "I assure you that if I told you my business around here, I would have to kill you."

Sherlock closed the door before he gave him a small smirk. "That does seem to be a reoccurring theme nowadays, doesn't it? Would you like some tea?"

Mycroft smirked back. "Why not…"

Sherlock walked into the kitchen and poured the boiling water over the teabag before steeping it and handing his brother the cup and saucer before he walked over and sat back down in his armchair, Mycroft following him.

"Are you not having any tea, then?"

Sherlock shook his head and sighed. "Forgive me, Mycroft, but I have more important things on my mind as of late than _tea._ I need to ask you a question, and I need you to answer truthfully. Everything depends on it."

Mycroft Holmes raised an eyebrow before taking a sip of the tea and setting it back down. "Go on…"

Sherlock's facial expression turned dead serious. "Have you hired someone to follow Molly Hooper around?"

His brother rolled his eyes now. "Why on earth would I waste my money doing that, Sherlock? Honestly, I have more important matters to attend to than to waste my time on some… woman I hardly know but for whatever reason, you've decided to spend your own time with."

Sherlock searched his brother physical position, searching for any clues to tell if he was lying, but found none. "I know you talk to Moriarty, Mycroft."

"Talk to him? He's kept in touch with me; I wouldn't consider that talking to James Moriarty, a criminal mastermind. He messages me and I relay the messages to the British government if I deem them important enough to be worried about," Mycroft remarked, somewhat impatiently.

"Has he messaged you anything about Molly? Or me?"

Mycroft took another sip of his tea before focusing on his brother. "He mentions you almost every time he gets in touch with me. Something about… burning you… but he's never mentioned Molly Hooper to me. Has something happened, Sherlock? He you know anything about his recent criminal activity, you'd be wise to tell me, dear brother."

Sherlock sighed, clenching his jaw again. "I believe that he's hired someone to stalk her in an attempt to eventually kidnap Molly to get to me. It's his way of knowing that she's one of my pressure points. He wants to see me again and he knows that kidnapping her will end in another encounter with me."

"Tsk, tsk, Sherlock… what have I always told you about sentiment?"

Sherlock suddenly hit the arm of his chair with his fist. "To hell with your sentiment rubbish, Mycroft! It's too late to undo what's already been done. I can't… unlove her, so you can just forget about me ending the relationship. I need to make sure he doesn't kidnap her."

"Well, what exactly is it you propose I do? Follow her as well to make sure she gets from Point A to Point B without a hitch?"

Sherlock pondered this for a second before he spoke again. "You have inside men, Mycroft. Get them to stay at the hospital and keep a watch for Moriarty or watch for his men if they make any moves to take her. I don't know exactly what to do! That's why I asked you over here!"

Mycroft sighed in exasperation. "Oh Sherlock, it would be so much easier just to break it off with the poor girl. I can't see what she sees in you but then again, maybe I can."

Sherlock raised his chin up and gave his brother a sideways look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I think you know exactly what it means, dear brother mine. Just because I don't make my appearance known to you doesn't mean I haven't been keeping tabs on the both of you. I do have people who have cameras, and I'm not as ignorant as you'd like to believe I am…"

Sherlock growled in frustration. "Stop it with the dramatic clichés and get to the point!"

Mycroft rolled his eyes before he took another sip of his tea and then set it down on the end table. "My point is, Sherlock, that I'm well aware you've been in hospital for the past month due to your self-destructive tendencies. I also know about Molly's self-destructive habits as well. You two have something very important and very dangerous in common, as I'm sure you know. You're with her so you both can feed off each other's co-dependency. I'm not a doctor, but I have been keeping in touch with one and from what he tells me, you two are ticking time bombs."

Sherlock straightened up now in realization that Mycroft was referring both to Molly's eating disorder as well as John. He had been talking to his ex-flatmate behind his back and John knew about her illness. It hadn't been as secret as the two of them had thought after all. "We're not co-dependent on each other. I encourage her to eat. It's up to her if she actually does. I'm not going to force food down her throat when I know all too well how it feels to have this illness. Surprisingly, isn't it? I'm the one with the eating disorder when you're the one who's always been on diets."

Mycroft gave his younger sibling a stern, icy glare. "You need to break it off with this girl or else you're both going to die from malnutrition in this flat. I won't be held responsible for that, Sherlock. I won't be responsible for my younger brother's death."

Sherlock felt defensive. He knew he had a brother; he knew that Molly had one as well. He wasn't going to deny that. He felt that his brother was crossing a line that he had no right to cross. "I don't expect you to understand what it feels like to love someone other than yourself, Mycroft. I do, though. I love her and she's the first person I've cared about and even felt the overwhelming urge to protect. If you put her in hospital then she's as good as dead. Moriarty's men will find her for sure and then you'll be responsible for her eventual kidnapping."

Mycroft shook his head. "Don't, Sherlock. Don't you dare put all that on me. You have no right."

"I'm only telling you the effect of the cause of what will happen if you do somehow get her thrown into hospital to be force-fed. I can help her. Just let me help her, Mycroft. You need to help protect the both of us before it's too late. You have that power; you can at least do that for me," Sherlock urged him, unwilling to admit he was feeling desperate.

Mycroft closed his eyes before he opened them again. "Very well. I'll see to it that she's protected if that's what you wish. You need to meet me halfway though, and I regret to inform you that you'll need to set up a meeting with Moriarty."

This suggestion felt like a slap in the face to Sherlock. He gave his brother an anxious look now. "No… I won't do it. The British government might want to arrest him but as long as he hasn't done anything wrong, he can't be charged. Lest you forget, he was found not guilty last time he ended up in your beloved justice system. Just send your men to protect her and I'll take care of the rest."

Mycroft nodded once in agreement before he stood up. "You've gained some weight in hospital, I see. You could do with gaining a bit more. You still look positively skeletal, Sherlock. I'm surprised they even released you in your state."

Sherlock stood up and then walked over to the door. "As always, it's been a pleasure seeing you again, _dear brother_. I really have other things to do, though."

His brother took the sign and walked out of the door before Sherlock shut it behind him. The detective finally walked into the room him and Molly shared and saw her slender figure in the dim light. Being in the dark room made him believe it was a lot later than it actually was. He had to remind himself it was only ten in the morning instead of ten at night.

He made his way towards the bed and lay down opposite from her so he could see her face. There were faint tear trails down her cheeks but she was silently crying, not even allowing sobs to escape her lips. He started to do what felt natural and stroke her loose locks of brown hair. "He's gone now…"

She gave him a weak smile and nodded in acknowledgement. When she didn't say anything, he spoke again in a soft voice. "He agreed to get his men to help protect you."

Molly searched Sherlock's eyes almost unsurely. "Do you trust him, then? Your brother…?"

"I trust him to a certain extent. He wouldn't let old rivalries and resentments get in the way of his duties as part of the British government. I don't know his men but I have every confidence they'll protect you," Sherlock answered as honestly as he could.

He continued to stroke her hair soothingly, only just noticing how hollow her cheeks looked and the circles under her eyes. Molly was getting worse as Sherlock was getting better; it seemed like a sick sort of irony. He needed to help her, any way he could. He couldn't admit that he was one hundred percent but he somehow felt a bit better food at least. That had to be a step in the right direction.

"How about some lunch? I can cut up some fruit for you and we can stay in bed all day. How does that sound?" he offered quietly, as if speaking normally might break the moment.

Molly looked hesitant at first but then nodded. Sherlock smiled and leaned in before planting a soft kiss on her forehead and getting up to head into the kitchen. After he had cut up some strawberries and threw some raspberries in a bowl, he headed back into the bedroom and placed the bowl in between them.

He watched as she timidly picked up a strawberry and took small bites of it before finally finishing it. Sherlock waited until she was done when he reached over and grabbed the arm she had injured earlier. He traced his fingers ever so lightly over the fresh cuts. "I know the numbness you're feeling, Molly. I know how awful it must be but you should consider stopping this," he nodded towards her arm. "It'll only make things worse, and if the hospital finds out you're self-injuring, they'll sack you. I don't want that to happen so… when you feel numb, I want you to come to me. Text me, call me, take a cab to me… it doesn't matter. I don't care what I'm doing; I just want you to come to me the next time you feel like doing this to yourself, okay?"

Molly let another silent tear fall down her cheek before she nodded. "Okay, Sherlock. I… I will. I'm sorry…"

Sherlock took a strawberry and took a bite out of it before he gently held it in front of her lips, tracing the edges of them and smiling when she finally took it from his fingers and chewed the fruit. He leaned in and kissed her red-stained lips, tasting the sweet strawberry flavour on them.

She returned his kiss before running her fingers through his dark curls, looking up at him with sad eyes. "How do you do it, eat and be okay about it? I don't think there's a time in any day when I'm not thinking about calories."

Sherlock bit his lip now and gave her a smirk. "I think about… how I want to be with you, right here, and not in hospital, attached to machines while being poked and prodded at by doctors and nurses who couldn't care less about my well-being. I have difficulty eating still but… I do it because I love you, and I don't want ever not want to be around you as long as I was before. That's why I need you to eat too, even if it's just fruit. Fruit and water, that's fine… but your body needs energy and that's all that calories really are. They're energy that keeps you functioning. I need your heart to continue to beat with mine."

Molly swallowed hard but nodded again, this time in understanding. "I-I… I think I can do that."

"Just try, that's all I ask. I'll eat with you, if that will help any."

Molly's tears started to come full force now but she was still swallowing back her sobs. Her shoulders trembled, however, giving her away. "I-It will… i-it'll help so much, Sherlock…"


End file.
